


Time Heals All Wounds

by Setari



Category: The Emperor's Edge Series - Lindsay Buroker
Genre: Amaranthe's Insane Plans, F/M, Families of Choice, Fix-It, Lokdon Family Feels, Nobody is Dead, Tags May Change, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-18
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2018-11-01 13:09:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10922457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setari/pseuds/Setari
Summary: Amaranthe has seen the Mental Sciences do a lot of strange things, but she knows they have their limits. However, combine it with alien technology, and suddenly, something as insane as time-travel doesn't seem all that impossible. And she is not going to pass up an opportunity to fix everything that has ever gone wrong, in her own life, and her friends' lives. Even if it is going to take a little creative thinking, and maybe a few explosions.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea if I'm ever going to finish this. I work on it here and there, whenever my obsession with Emperor's Edge resurfaces, and I have a lot of ideas, but it's not something I'm dedicated to. I just felt I should post it because there is a serious lack of Emperor's Edge fanfic on this site, and I want to share the love.
> 
> A quick warning: While I personally believe that No Archive Warnings Apply, the time-travel does bring up the issue of underage relationships. Mentally, Amaranthe is fifty-something and fully capable of consenting to romantic/sexual relationships. Physically? At the start of the story, she's seven. I haven't decided when she's going to (re-)meet Sicarius, but she's probably going to be fifteen or younger, and Sicarius is ten years older than her. If this might trigger and/or squick you, please, take care of yourself, and proceed with caution, if you choose to proceed at all.
> 
> Other tags will be updated as the story progresses.

“Don’t you think we’re maybe getting too old for this?” Amaranthe asked idly. Sicarius glanced back at her, his eyebrow quirked. She could read a hundred thoughts in that one look alone, and she grinned in response. “You’re right.” She agreed to the unspoken disbelief. “We’d be bored otherwise.”

The tunnel they were creeping down eventually opened up into a cave that was obviously an important meeting place for the cult that had been lured outside minutes previously. There were seats carved into the sides and an alter in the middle with something that glowed faintly in the dim light. Sicarius led the way, as he always did, but he halted before they reached the alter. Amaranthe stopped as well, sliding her fingers along his lower back, letting him know where she was and requesting an explanation for why he’d stopped.

“They’ve enchanted an alien device.” Sicarius explained.

Amaranthe hissed in shock. “That sounds like a really terrible idea.” She knew the alien devices weren’t magical themselves, but it seemed to be asking for trouble to combine two such volatile and dangerous arts, especially when they were still a long way from understanding even a fraction of how the alien devices worked. “Any idea what they were trying to make it do? Any idea what it did before they meddled with it?” She wondered, turning ideas over in her mind.

“No.” Sicarius said shortly. He sounded wary, which put an extra hint of alarm in Amaranthe, too. “We should leave.” He added, in a tone that suggested he knew it wasn’t going to be that simple.

Amaranthe gave his back an unimpressed look. “Because it’s going to fizzle out on its own so there’s no point in our staying, or because it’s going to blow up and possibly take the houses above us with it?” She asked, thinking more of the distraction playing out above their heads. The one their daughter was orchestrating. Shaking her head to herself, Amaranthe slipped around Sicarius to approach the device.

She could feel him hovering at her shoulder, but he made no move to hold her back and didn’t try to dissuade her again. Amaranthe peered at the device in the light of its own glow and their weak lanterns. Now that she was close, she could see the dark sheen of that strange black material, lit up with glowing red symbols. It was strangely spiky in shape, and Amaranthe was a little tempted to see if those points would twist. “Well, it doesn’t look like any of those dangerous things I’ve seen before.” It wasn’t a cube shooting red beams of destruction everywhere. “But it doesn’t look like any of the harmless things I’ve seen before either. Oh, but I recognise those symbols!” That, at least, felt like something of a triumph, where all the rest of her ignorance irked her.

“Numbers.” Sicarius agreed.

“Yup. Do you think it’s a countdown, or could it just be recording something?” She wondered. One was far more ominous than the other, but neither were inherently harmless.

“Yes.” Sicarius replied, dry as a desert. Amaranthe couldn’t help but grin over at him for that old joke, and saw alarm race across his face. She was already jerking away from the device when Sicarius barked “Get back!” and pulled her further away with a hand on her arm.

The world shifted before her eyes.

The glow of her lantern became the faint light of dawn seeping in her window, the red glow of the device the glow a fire through a curtain, the dark stone of the cave became walls of dark wood instead. The tickle of stale air across her shoulder became the brush of hair, her momentum backwards halted by the prickling of a cheap straw mattress. Sicarius’s hand on her arm became someone else’s.

“If you want to say goodbye, flower, you’re going to have to wake up. I’m off in five minutes.”

Amaranthe sat up with a gasp, her heart racing. Her body was clumsier than she was used to, her limbs over-reaching and still not reaching far enough as her hand shot out and tried to grab at the owner of that voice, that hand. That someone caught her flailing attempts, and shushed her while reaching out to smooth her hair out of her face. Amaranthe blinked up at the face of her father. “Dad?” She rasped.

“Hey, yeah. What’s got you in such a panic, Ammy?” Her father replied, frowning at her in open concern. “Bad dream?” He asked gently.

Amaranthe just stared at him. Her _father_ , alive and well and sitting there treating her like she was still a child, when she was _fifty years old_ and he’d been dead for the last thirty! She couldn’t process what she was seeing, but she couldn’t bring herself to look away. He was, while perhaps not in his prime anymore, hale and whole and completely solid. The weight and warmth of his hand on her arm and her face could attest to that. “ _Dad?_ ” Amaranthe asked again, for lack of anything else in her brain.

Her father’s frown deepened. “Yes, Amaranthe, it’s me. What’s wrong?”

“I-” Amaranthe choked on an attempt at an explanation, because she didn’t have one. How could her father be here, in front of her, like he’d stepped right out of her fondest memories? It didn’t make any sense. Surely that device couldn’t have the power to bring the dead back to life, could it? If it did, could it be possible that everyone else she’d lost could be there?

She looked around, wondering if Sicarius had an explanation. But he wasn’t there. The cave was completely gone, replaced instead by her childhood bedroom. It was, really, just a corner of the main room curtained off so that she could have some privacy in their tiny little apartment, but it had her crappy attempts at drawing pinned up on the walls and one or two of her racing medals tacked up beside them. She was lying on a small cot, and her father had pushed the curtain aside to crouch at her bedside.

To shake her awake to say goodbye, like he did most mornings. Amaranthe finally returned her gaze to him, with the dawning realisation that he hadn’t fallen _out_ of her memories, _she_ had fallen _in_. “Bad dream.” She said, because it was the explanation he had already supplied her with. “You _died_.” She said before she could stop herself, and suddenly she was crying. She curled over and clutched at his worn and stained jacket, and he wrapped his arms around her and shushed her as she sobbed.

She tried desperately to get a hold of herself – if this went on much longer, he’d miss his train out to the mines – but she couldn’t. She wasn’t sure if her tears were because of grief, or relief, but in the end she decided it didn’t matter. “I’m sorry, I-” She choked out.

“No, hush. It’s okay. I’m fine.” Her father said at once. His large, work-calloused hand smoothed up and down her back. “Everything’s going to be okay, flower.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. Amaranthe’s tears began to dry up as her mind finally began to work again. Her father was right, everything would be okay in the end, and while Amaranthe wouldn’t trade the future she’d helped build for anything, perhaps, if she was smart about it, she could make it even better. There was, of course, no guarantee that any of this was real, but Amaranthe was going to proceed as if it was until proven otherwise. It would be stupid to waste time trying to prove it was a dream if it wasn’t, and if it was, what did it matter? It would still be an interesting exercise.

“I don’t know what you’re cooking up in that crazy noggin of yours, but stop it.” Her father chided on a laugh, tapping lightly at her forehead with his knuckle in reprimand. “Feeling better?” He checked, although he clearly knew the answer. Amaranthe nodded, and her father smiled. “There’s breakfast on the stove for you, and don’t be late to school.”

“I won’t, Dad.” Amaranthe assured him. “Don’t you be late for work.”

Her father snorted at her, gave her one last hug, then ruffled her hair as he stood. “Be good.”

“I will. I love you, Dad.”

“You too, Ammy.” He called over his shoulder as he left. Amaranthe remained where she sat, staring at the door for several long minutes, wondering if she’d imagined the whole exchange. But no. She knew she hadn’t, and she needed to figure out when, exactly, she was, and what her plan was going to be.

On climbing out of bed, she tripped and stumbled and only barely managed to catch herself against the wall. She looked down at her tiny bare feet sticking out of her pyjamas, and gaped. Of course, she knew better than to expect the worn old feet she’d had fifty years to get used to, but the tiny, smooth, _cute_ feet she was looking at still shocked her. They didn’t feel like they were hers. She wiggled her toes, just to make sure. Yup. Hers.

“How old _am I_?” She asked in disbelief.

She looked about for an answer, but the room did not present one. _Yet_ , Amaranthe thought with determination. It would be interesting, snooping through her own life instead of someone else’s, but snooping was what she did, she wouldn’t be able to keep secrets from _herself_. Memories assailed her as she worked, poking through everything and tidying up after herself as she went. It was strange, getting used to a new body. She kept expecting that familiar ache in her hip to start up when she walked, and kept tripping and smacking her hands into things because her reach was smaller than she was used to. Still, with a little conscious effort, she could move with… not grace, but without any clumsy awkwardness.

It was the medals in her room that gave her the answer she sought, in the end. She had only one, and could find no others in the entire apartment, which meant that she was either seven or eight years old. She did a little mental maths, and realised that Sicarius must be seventeen or eighteen, and Sespian would be only one or two. Her heart suddenly ached at the thought of them, at the thought of the hard road that lay ahead of them. She wanted to fix that, but how on earth could she? There was no way a coal miner’s seven year old daughter was getting anywhere near the Imperial Barracks. She supposed she could ask after Sicarius, but that…

He’d been with her when the device had gone off, so perhaps he was here with his future memories, too. But then, perhaps he wasn’t. And if he wasn’t, getting his attention when he was still on Hollowcrest’s leash would be as good as a death sentence. She couldn’t bear the thought of dying at his hand, so she reluctantly set aside any notions of talking Sicarius out of displaying a bag of severed heads to a five year old. She’d reconnect them in the future. She’d done it before, she could do it again.

There were other people whose lives she could improve. Books. He wouldn’t die this time around, not if she had any damn say in the matter. She could let things play out as they did, except trying to save Books’ life at the very end, but… why stop there? That would just be leading everyone into the same dangerous situation all over again. No. Now that she knew the risks, she could avoid them. If she could stop Forge before they got enough clout to start the civil war, she would prevent the need for all that fighting.

Perhaps, she thought with a light-headed feeling of daring, she could even save Books’ son from Hollowcrest’s enforcers. She could save Basilard from his time fighting in the slave pit fights, and make sure Akstyr got a good magic teacher, and perhaps even save Maldynado’s sister.

That one had to come first, she realised with a jolt. Tia had been her age, she remembered, and she’d died when she was nine. If Amaranthe was eight right now, then Tia would be, too. She had to figure out a way to save her before it was too late. If she could change anything at all. Perhaps she was doomed to relive all the same disasters and mistakes all over again.

She shook that thought away viciously. No. That would be too cruel. She wouldn’t believe it. So she would have to find a way to… what, warn someone? Who would take the words of a child seriously? No, she’d have to find a way to be there, to make sure. The easiest way, of course, would be somehow attaching herself to the Marblecrests. That, however, had the same problem as doing anything about Sespian and Sicarius’s relationship. She was a miner’s daughter, not someone the Marblecrests would ever waste time on. Unless…

Amaranthe looked down at her hands, which were busy washing up the bowl of porridge she hadn’t noticed herself eating as she schemed. The idea unfolded in her mind, and she beamed, unseeing, at the wall. Yes, that was perfect. She was a bit young, admittedly, to be working, but if she gave herself a year to get used to being in the past before she acted… She was sure she could sell it. With the right words in the right ears, she could get herself some part time work cleaning for the Marblecrests. Then she would be on hand to help save Tia, and it might even foster some useful connections for later.

Somewhere in the building, a clock chimed, and Amaranthe jumped. She was late for school! She scrambled to get dressed and grab her notebook and pencils, and darted out of the door. It was going to be a tedious chore, drudging her way through the cheap local empire-funded and mandatory schooling _again_ , but she would do it. She couldn’t drop out, not when Mildawn was her best link to Forge. If she could endear herself to Ms Worgavic, make connections with the other students that got recruited, like Retta, she could gather enough information to-

To what? Blackmail them? That was an option, she supposed, and not one she would flinch from anymore, not after seeing the havoc Forge had helped mastermind, but it wasn’t an option she particularly liked. She _did_ flinch from the idea of giving Sicarius a list of names, but she didn’t entirely dismiss the idea. She hated herself for it, a little bit, but if she couldn’t think of anything better, she would pay that price to avoid the carnage of the revolution. There was the dubious possibility of, as Sicarius called it, _subverting_ enough of the members that they’d lose traction before they could enact any of their more dangerous ideas, but she wasn’t sure enough of her own skills to manage it. She’d only partially succeeded with Retta, although she thought she might do better if she could start earlier, and Suan might be an ally, if Amaranthe could reveal to her what, exactly, her ‘colleagues’ were up to. Ms Worgavic had been a lost cause, and Amaranthe didn’t know enough about any of the other members to make any solid bets.

But, if she could infiltrate them from the beginning, go into business and finance, let them think she was one of them, perhaps she would have a better chance. She would try, but she wouldn’t rest all her hopes on the idea. She would try blackmail, if the opportunity came up, and she would try to win favours that she could cash in on to get people on her side, and she would keep her eyes peeled for opportunities. If none came, well. She’d at least have that list of names for Sicarius.

School was, as she had predicted, tedious. What she could not have predicted was just how hard it was to act like a child. She didn’t even notice that she was being far more studious and professional than she’d ever managed as a child, until she picked up on their teacher shooting her concerned looks. At lunchtime, she was rather expecting to be called aside, so she went with a resigned air, and waited politely for Mr Lyrgosk to speak first.

He gave her another one of those baffled and concerned looks, and Amaranthe belatedly realised that most children – and herself, at that age – would be either belligerent or nervous about being called over by the teacher, not politely interested in what they had to say. “Is everything alright, Miss Lokdon?” He asked, tentative in his concern.

“Fine, sir.” Amaranthe replied, trying for a baffled expression. “Why?”

Mr Lyrgosk’s frown became even more pronounced. “You seem…” He stopped, floundering for the right word. Amaranthe could have given it to him; ‘older’. Instead, what he chose was, “…distracted, today.”

“I guess I am, a bit.” Amaranthe agreed, struggling to find the right mindset for her younger self. Sheepish, she decided, since she’d always tried to take her studies seriously. She scuffed her shoe against the floor and looked down. “Dad’s been working really hard lately, and I… I worry about him.” She admitted.

Mr Lyrgosk sighed, and laid a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure your father will be fine. He’s working as hard as he is because he loves you, and wants the best for you.”

Amaranthe nodded quickly. “I know, sir.”

“Good girl. Now, run along.” He said, apparently reassured that nothing disastrous had happened to her. Amaranthe ran along, even though she chafed a little at the instruction. The only person who’d dared tell her to run along in the last twenty years was Fleet Admiral Starcrest, and the only reason she’d accepted it was because, from him, it had felt more like a welcome than a dismissal.

One or two of her tentative friends asked if she was alright over the rest of the day, and she waved them off with the same answer, which everyone seemed to accept, and Amaranthe resolved to get her act together.

It was hard. Acting like a child, to her friends, to her teachers, to her _father_ , was far more difficult than she’d predicted. Her own body turned traitor, always that much smaller than she expected. She was constantly tripping over nothing, knocking elbows and knees into things and stubbing toes and fingers. Her father worried, she could tell, but she persevered, training her body the way Sicarius had shown her until she began to get used to it again.

She had to watch everything she said, too. Words she’d been using for decades suddenly made everyone around her stare, because she wasn’t fifty and friends with several academics. She was _eight_ , and a coal miner’s daughter. She had to remember how play like a child, which was even harder than watching her words, because spending time around people her own – _physical_ – age made her feel so old, like the grandmother she’d never quite had the chance to be. Unless she counted Sespian’s children, which she sort of did, if only sort of.

And then there was relearning her own life. It was unnerving to realise just how much she’d forgotten, not just about the day-to-day of being seven in her old neighbourhood, but the people around her, even some of her own father’s mannerisms. She’d forgotten, as well, how little he was _there_. He worked long hours, and the commute out to the mountains made it even longer. And to have him back, but not _there_ hurt. It hurt a lot. Not nearly as much as realising that her own daughter _didn’t exist_ here.

She spent a whole day in bed after realising that, feigning sickness so that she could wallow in her grief and misery and fear. If she changed things, her daughter might _never be born at all_. But even if she did her best not to change a thing, she couldn’t guarantee that she wouldn’t be just different enough to change that, anyway. She had to let go, and that was the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life. All she could do was hope that the life she’d built still existed somehow, and her daughter could continue to live there, even if she couldn’t _here_.

By the time her ninth birthday rolled around, as winter bled into spring, she thought she had finally started to get the hang of her new-old life. Enough that she resolved to put her plan into action a few days later, once she’d escaped from school.

Her first stop was the property library, and her youth plus a quarter of a century enduring Sicarius’s training – with only a few very memorable holidays in the mix – enabled her to get inside without being seen by anybody. Then she went snooping, looking for property owned by the Marblecrests. She could have asked around, but she didn’t want it being known that she’d searched them out specifically. That would be suspicious. So she had to trawl through maps, looking for the right name.

For once, it wasn’t hard. Proud warrior caste as they were, Amaranthe’s guess that the Marblecrest estate would be in the north of the city on Mokath Ridge, where most of the old-money manors were located, turned out to be correct. It was one of the largest estates, which didn’t surprise Amaranthe, and was nestled well within the wealthy neighbourhood, which annoyed her.

That was her next stop, of course, so she hopped onto a trolley that would take her close to the Crest neighbourhood, and scanned the crowds absently while she plotted. She might be able to get away with saying she was ten, or even eleven, and it wasn’t _that_ unusual for kids that age, from her neighbourhood, to find themselves little jobs to help supplement the family income. It would be believable. Sort of. No child from her district would _dare_ to solicit a Warrior Caste family for work.

When she reached the stop nearest the edge of the fancy manor houses of the warrior caste families, Amaranthe hopped off the trolley and braced herself. She could do this. Clenching her hands into nervous fists in the fabric of her skirt, Amaranthe marched – more like scurried, if she was being honest – into the grand streets speckled with milling nobility. She went unnoticed, for the most part, as she tried to keep to unoccupied streets. Her neck still prickled with the sensation of being watched every now and then, and she heard someone shout something about calling the enforcers if she didn’t clear off. Amaranthe ignored them all as she wound her way, not too directly, towards the Marblecrests’ estate.

Once there, she tried not to roll her eyes at the ostentatiousness of it all, and skirted around to the back. She loitered there nervously for long enough that she was fairly sure a servant inside would have spotted her, before squaring her shoulders and going to knock at the back door.

It was opened by a heavy-set, severe-looking woman with steel grey hair in a practical bun to match Amaranthe’s, who glared down at her with surprising ferocity. Amaranthe’s nervous gulp was not at all feigned. “Um, sorry to bother you, ma’am-”

“What do you want?” The woman snapped, interrupting. “I’ve a soufflé in the oven as needs watching, so don’t waste my time!”

“I was wondering if you had any need for a cleaning girl, ma’am.” Amaranthe blurted hastily.

The woman squinted at her. “How old are you?”

“Ten.” Amaranthe answered, lifting her child like a proud, defiant, but still nervous child would. She hoped. “I’m real handy around the house, ma’am, I can dust and sweep and mop and polish. Everyone says I’ve a real knack for it.”

“Bit young to be begging for work, ain’t you?” The woman asked, voice all full of warning and danger.

“I’m old enough, ma’am.” Amaranthe said defiantly, then made a show of wilting a little, when the woman seemed about to bark something angry at her again. “Please, ma’am. I’ve been looking for work all over. It’s just me and my Dad, see, and he’s a miner, and the pay’s not so good. He works real hard, does his best for me, ma’am, but I- I don’t like seeing him so tired all the time, and I know he’s trying to save to send me to a good school, and-”

The woman clucked her tongue. “Oh, come on in, girl.” She huffed grumpily, waving Amaranthe inside. Amaranthe darted in before the invitation could be retracted. She found herself in a spacious, well-kept kitchen, dominated by a massive stove and an even more massive sturdy wooden table, covered in all sorts of ingredients and preparation stations. “You’ll have to speak with the housekeeper, mind, but I’ve been hearing maids complaining about their workload.” The woman informed her.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Amaranthe breathed, all the gratitude in her voice completely genuine.

The woman scoffed at her. “Enough with the ‘ma’am’ nonsense. I’m Mrs Mevell, the head cook here.” She introduced herself gruffly.

“Amaranthe Lokdon, ma’a- uh, Mrs Mevell.” She corrected herself at a flinty glare from the woman in question, who nodded sternly once she’d done so.

The woman turned away from her, and bore down on a young woman stirring a pot full of hearty stew, if Amaranthe’s nose wasn’t mistaken. “Oi! You there, girl! Go and fetch Ms Cochovosk! And be quick about it!” Mrs Mevell barked, and the young woman scampered out of the kitchen like her heels were on fire. Amaranthe tried not to smile. Mrs Mevell went right back to her cooking, ignoring Amaranthe completely as she bustled about. Amaranthe’s fingers twitched at the mess all over the main table, and she wondered if Mrs Mevell would yell at her for tidying.

She decided she didn’t care, and got to work. It was more difficult than she was used to, given that the table was nearly taller than her, but she was a girl on a mission, and she could get creative. Mrs Mevell obviously didn’t mind her busy hands, because every now and then she would direct Amaranthe to the right cupboard to put something away, or bark at her not to touch something.

By the time a hawkish young woman with short black hair arrived in the doorway, the table was clear and the floor was sparkling, and Amaranthe was elbow-deep in silver polish. The girl who had been sent to fetch Ms Cochovosk gaped until Mrs Mevell barked at her to get back to work. Ms Cochovosk cleared her throat. “I assume you’re responsible for the kitchen’s current state of cleanliness?” She asked Amaranthe primly, flicking her fingers at the general area of the kitchen.

“Yes, ma’am.” Amaranthe replied, not stopping in her polishing.

Ms Cochovosk eyed her in what Amaranthe thought was pure bewilderment. “You’re looking for work as a maid?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Amaranthe said again.

“At your age?” Ms Cochovosk checked.

Amaranthe bit her lip, hard, before saying, carefully. “I work hard, ma’am, and I know it might be a bit inconvenient to only hire me part time, but I’d be happy to come straight here after school and work until supper.”

Ms Cochovosk eyed the kitchen again, then narrowed her eyes at Amaranthe. “Five ranmya an hour, for four hours a day, weekdays.”

Amaranthe wanted to bargain up, five ranmya was hardly a decent salary. But then, she was a child, and she didn’t think either of these women were thinking of her wanting this job for anything more than pocket change, and for that, five ranmya was very generous. “Five hours a day, every day.” She bargained up, hoping to make the point that she was serious about this.

Ms Cochovosk raised her eyebrows. “Three hours a day, every day, for the first two weeks. Then we can renegotiate.” She counter-offered.

Amaranthe considered. It got her into the house every day, at least, and that was the most important part. “Deal.” She agreed.

“I’ll write up the contract.” Ms Cochovosk sniffed, gave Amaranthe a dubious look, then left again.

“Good bargaining, kid.” Mrs Mevell complimented.

Amaranthe looked at her, startled, but then smiled. “Thank you. I’m hoping to get into Mildawn Business Academy for Girls when I’m old enough.” She answered.

Mrs Mevell snorted, and for a moment Amaranthe thought she was scoffing at her, but then she said, “They’d be fools if they didn’t take you. Now, if you’re starting work today, which you might as well, you can finish that silver up and get to work cleaning the pantry.”

Amaranthe leapt to obey.

By the time she left the Marblecrest estate three hours after she’d arrived she had fifteen ranmya in one hand, a work contract in the other, and the first step of her plan in motion. She went home, did her homework easily, and had dinner ready when her father trooped inside at ten in the evening. He paused when he saw the meal laid out, and smiled tiredly. “Thanks, Ammy.”

“I had time.” Amaranthe shrugged.

“Yeah? You ought to be in bed already.” Her father reminded her, although she could tell he didn’t mean it by the light in his eyes. Amaranthe stuck out her tongue. Once her father was sitting at the table and had started in on the food – with a small exclamation about how good it tasted – he asked Amaranthe how her day had been.

“It was good. I got a job today.” Her father’s eyebrows shot up. “Cleaning for the Marblecrests.” Amaranthe added, and tried not to laugh when her father choked on his mouthful and stared at her incredulously. “It’s going to be fun.” She added, bouncing a little. It wasn’t her dream job, but an excuse to let her – slightly neurotic, she could admit her faults – cleaning habit run loose for a while would be cathartic, if nothing else.

“The Marblecrests, you say?” Her father rasped. “How did that happen?”

Amaranthe shrugged. “I went door-knocking, same as most kids that are looking for work.”

“You went door-knocking at _Crest_ houses?” Her father echoed.

“Yes?” Amaranthe replied, doing her best to look wide-eyed and guileless.

Her father stared at her for a moment, then snorted and shook his head. “Only you, Ammy. Well, the Marblecrests are lucky to have you, but mind you don’t work too hard.” He reminded her, wagging his fork at her.

“You’re a hypocrite.” Amaranthe informed him lightly.

Her father huffed softly. “I work as hard as I do so you don’t have to, flower.” He said gently. Amaranthe’s eyes filled with tears without her consent, and she hastily wiped at them, frustrated. “Hey, Ammy, love, what-?” Her father asked.

“I’m fine.” Amaranthe protested, knuckling at her eyes until she had control of herself again. “I just… You don’t have to work so hard, Dad. I know- I know you’re doing it to take care of me, and I appreciate it, I _do_ , but, Emperor’s warts, Dad, you need to take care of _you_ too!”

“Ah, come here, flower.” Her father sighed, turning in his chair and holding his arms out. Amaranthe didn’t even bother trying for dignity as she flung herself around the table and into his arms. “I’m tougher’n I look, I’ll be fine.” Amaranthe wanted to scream at him, but instead she swallowed it back and clung to him for a little while.

“Your dinner’s getting cold.” She muttered when the urge to tell her father everything had faded.

He chuckled at her. “So’s yours.” He retorted.

Amaranthe squinted at him in mock disgruntlement. “Next time, I’m making _ration bars_ , if that’s how you’re going to appreciate all my hard work.” She paused. “Actually, that’s maybe not a bad idea. Good fuel makes for a healthier body. I will draw the line at spider’s eggs, though.”

Her father choked again. “Spider’s eggs?” He echoed.

Amaranthe mimicked her daughter’s best I-didn’t-do-anything-wrong-I-promise grin. “I hear they’re an excellent source of protein.” She announced, and snickered at her father’s disgusted groan.


	2. Chapter 2

Amaranthe’s new job quickly melded into her routine: Waking up in time to see her father off, enduring school, hopping a trolley up to the Marblecrests’, cleaning her way through the house, going to the lake trail to run, heading home to do homework and make dinner. Rinse and repeat. On the first day of her second week working at the Marblecrests’, she was just finishing dusting a rarely used parlour when there was an almighty crash outside, and a tangle of three boys toppled into the room, wrestling.

As she watched, one of them caught sight of her, and promptly had his glasses knocked askew for his inattention. “Mal!” The boy protested, pouncing on his assailant. Amaranthe gaped, because it was hard to get a good look at any of them with all the fists flying about, but she was pretty sure that _was_ a young Maldynado. And… and possibly a young Deret, too.

While she was staring, a young girl edged around the tangle of limbs and approached the table Amaranthe was standing on. “Hello.” She said, watching Amaranthe with curiosity. “Who are you? And why are you on the table?”

Amaranthe stared at her. She resembled Maldynado, enough that Amaranthe could see it even though she was so young. Her hair was darker, nearly black, but everything about her face suggested she would grow into just as much of a stunning beauty as Maldynado would. This had to be Tia. “I’m Amaranthe.” Amaranthe said. “And I’m supposed to be dusting, but I can’t reach the top of the bookshelf from the floor, so I climbed on the table. Don’t touch the glass, please, I just got done cleaning it.”

“Oh, okay.” Tia agreed, retracting the hand that had been going to press against the glass square in the table. “Why are you cleaning? Would you like to play with me? Mal said I could play with him, but then Avery said girls can’t play at fighting.” She said, pulling a face.

Amaranthe twitched an eyebrow. “Oh, he did, did he?” She asked, eyeing the scuffle, and wondering if it would be undignified if she joined in. Probably. Even if she was just nine physically, she was still fifty inside her head, so she probably shouldn’t go around fighting with children.

Tia giggled, reclaiming her attention. “You look like you were thinking of thumping him.”

“I was.” Amaranthe confirmed ruefully.

Avery snorted. “As if some miniature helper could thump m- _Ow_ , Maldynado, you lout!”

“Apologise to the fair maiden.” Maldynado demanded. Avery growled and tackled him. Amaranthe watched for a moment, the sight making her feel strangely nostalgic, before she remembered she was supposed to be working, and hopped down from the table. She gathered up her supplies and left the room, heading for the next one on her list, which was only a few doors down. It was a music room, and it looked as though every single instrument had been taken out and dropped wherever the player was standing when they happened to get bored. The violin bows looked like they might have been used as pretend swords.

Sighing, Amaranthe started straightening things up. A she worked, she heard footsteps come up to the door and pause. Thanks to that, she wasn’t startled when Tia asked, “So, why _are_ you cleaning? Wouldn’t you rather play?”

“I’m cleaning because it’s my job, so I couldn’t play even if I wanted to.” Amaranthe answered, then shrugged. “But I like cleaning, so I don’t mind.”

“It’s your job?” Tia asked, startled. “But you’re a kid!”

“Yes? That doesn’t mean I can’t work. There are some jobs I can’t do, obviously, but cleaning isn’t hard.” Amaranthe replied, glancing over at Tia. She was frowning cutely, puzzled by the idea of a child working. It made Amaranthe’s heart ache a little.

“But why would you _want_ to work?” Tia asked.

“Because my family needs money.”

“Don’t your parents have any?” Tia wondered.

Amaranthe winced a little. “My dad makes some, but I like to help where I can.”

“Oh.” Tia nodded slowly. Amaranthe thought that might be it, that Tia would go back to watching the boys wrestle and pestering her brother, but instead she asked, “What does your dad do? Does he work as a cleaner too?”

“No, he’s a miner.” Amaranthe replied, pushing away thoughts of black lung, and her father dying slowly thanks to his job. Tia didn’t notice the way Amaranthe’s tone had gone clipped, and continued to pepper her with questions. It was endearing, how earnestly curious she was about everything, asking about Amaranthe’s father’s job in detail. When Amaranthe explained how far her father had to travel, and that sometimes he didn’t even make it back to the city to sleep, Tia asked, in that way only children seemed to manage, if Amaranthe missed him. Amaranthe couldn’t quite help the sting of tears in her eyes, but she blinked hard and refused to let them fall. “Yes. I do.”

“I’m sorry.” Tia offered, and stepped over to wrap Amaranthe in a tight hug. Startled, Amaranthe dropped the dusting rag she’d been holding. “My father is away a lot too, but I have Mother and Mal, so I don’t miss him so much. Do you have any brothers? Or sisters? I’ve always wished I had a sister. What about your mother? Does she work, too?” She wondered.

Amaranthe laughed softly, and finally returned the hug. Then she let go and went back to her tidying. “My mother died a long time ago. I barely knew her, so I don’t miss her so much. I don’t have any siblings either. It’s just me and Dad, although our neighbours are friendly, and help us where they can.” She explained. “It must be nice having a lot of brothers.” She added promptingly.

Tia shrugged. “Mal is nice to me, when he’s not busy with Deret and Avery, but the others are all grown-ups, or nearly, and so busy I don’t really know them that well.” She explained. “And they’re not very nice to Mal, so I don’t think I want to know them any better, anyway.” That was added in a surprisingly mild tone, without the protective rancour Amaranthe half expected. She hummed in agreement, finished sorting a stack of scattered sheet music, and put it away. “Do you like music?” Tia asked abruptly.

“I like listening to it, but I can’t play.” Amaranthe answered, heading out into the hall and on to the next room. “Do you?”

“Yes!” Tia enthused, and the rest of Amaranthe’s alloted work time passed quickly, with Tia chattering away and asking her a myriad of questions. Tia was still following when Amarathe headed back down to the first floor, to Ms Cochovosk’s cramped little office.

“I’m done for the day, Ms Cochovosk.” Amaranthe said, and the woman looked up from the numbers she was tallying. Her eyes widened when she spotted Tia at Amaranthe’s elbow.

“Miss Marblecrest.” Ms Cochovosk said, getting to her feet. “What are you doing down here?”

“Talking to Amaranthe.” Tia replied. “She’s really nice. I’m glad she’s working here. Now that she’s done can she come play, please?” She asked in a tone so polite it was positively angelic. With her hands tucked behind her back and her dark eyes wide and pleading in her pretty face, she looked the part, too. Amaranthe had to hide her smirk behind her hand. She wondered just how old Tia had been when she’d figured out that trick.

“I, well, uh-…”Ms Cochovosk stammered, looking uncertain. It was the first time Amaranthe had seen her less than composed. “That’s not up to me.” She said eventually.

Tia turned to Amaranthe, excitement replacing the sweetness on her face. “Want to come play?” She asked hopefully.

Amaranthe considered. “I usually go running after work, but...” Her eyes lit up, and she smiled back at Tia, who was bouncing on the spot. “We could ask your brother and his friends to play tag with us?” She suggested.

Tia nodded, and grabbed Amaranthe’s hand. “Come on, let’s go find them!” She enthused, and towed Amaranthe away from Ms Cochovosk’s office.

“Don’t forget to collect your wages before you leave, Miss Lokdon!” Ms Cochovosk called after her.

Amaranthe replied in the affirmative, then matched Tia’s pace as she raced through the house, searching for Maldynado. They followed the sounds of shouting and childish battle-cries, until they came upon the trio of boys in a parlour, toy swords in hand. “Mal!” Tia interrupted. “Amaranthe can play with us now, so you have to stop playing boys only games so we can all play.”

Maldynado looked over, lowering his sword. He got smacked on the head for it, and he retaliated by jabbing Avery in the stomach. “Underhanded curr!” Maldynado cried as he fended off another attack. “What were you thinking of, Tia?” He asked, though he didn’t take his eyes off Avery again.

“Amaranthe wants to play tag.” Tia declared.

“Really?” Maldynado asked.

“That’s not really a girl’s game, either.” Deret remarked.

Amaranthe smiled her most innocent, unassuming smile. “Then you won’t have to worry about being beaten by a girl, will you?” She asked lightly. She shot a sharper look over at Avery. “Unless you _are_ worried that a couple of girls several years younger than you might, in fact, be faster than you, in which case, I’m sure we can think of something else.”

“Of course we’re not!” Avery declared, nose in the air.

“Well, then.” Amaranthe said brightly. “Who’s going to be it first?”

Maldynado’s hand shot out and whapped Deret on the back of the head. “Tag!” He shouted, then bolted, laughing.

Amaranthe bolted too, followed a heartbeat later by Tia. The game quickly devolved into a round of hide-and-seek, in such a large house. Amaranthe worked with Tia until Maldynado caught them and tagged Tia, at which point Amaranthe fled. Not as fast as she _could have_ , and not fast enough. Tia caught her minutes later, and Amaranthe was fairly sure her grin was pure evil. The moment Tia had darted out of sight, she softened her steps the way Sicarius had taught her, and snuck through the house using every last inch of the skills she had been painstakingly trying to drill into her younger body. Some of it was knowledge, and that she still had, but she was nine, and while she was fast for her age, she was not the battle-hardened athlete she’d been even in her fifty year old body.

It was enough, however, to sneak up behind Avery where he was creeping through a grand dining room with Deret. “Shh,” Avery was saying, hiding against the side of a display cabinet and peeking around it towards the door. “If we’re quiet, they’ll never know we’re here.” Deret had ducked under the table, and was crouched among the chair legs, also watching the door. They’d forgotten about the servant’s corridors, with their discrete doorways into important rooms, and Amaranthe slid right up until she was almost breathing down Avery’s neck.

She prodded him in the back, and beamed when he yelped and startled so badly he fell against the wall as he tried to turn around. “Tag!” Amaranthe chirped, then bolted for the door before he could recover. A snickering Deret raced after her. There, Amaranthe thought to herself, that was sufficient payback for that comment about miniature helpers not being able to thump people.

By the time the ‘Crest kids were called to supper, Amaranthe decided she had definitely done enough running about the mansion to pass on running the lake trail today. She collected her wages, waved goodbye to Mrs Mevell, who glared at her and pressed half a quiche and two jam tarts into her arms in lieu of a goodbye, and caught a trolley home.

The next day, Amaranthe was waylaid almost immediately upon entering the Marblecrest house by a delighted Tia and an incredulous Maldynado, demanding to know the truth of Deret’s story. It had been embellished somewhat, but was true in essentials, and she told them as much. Tia asked her a lot about how she could be that sneaky that Amaranthe had no idea how to answer, and Maldynado spent the next hour attempting to sneak up on her.

“I can still hear you.” She told him after the umpteenth time the shuffle of footsteps alerted her to his presence.

“Damn.” Maldynado huffed. “What am I doing wrong?” He whined.

“You have to step toe first, and try not to step right in the middle of the floorboards.” She paused, and glanced over at him. He looked sullen. “You’re doing a lot better, though.” She added, which did cause his expression to brighten. “It just takes practice.” Years and years of practice and a husband who, at least once he got used to the idea of fun, delighted in sneaking up on her for surprise kisses.

“That’s what all our tutors say, too.” Tia agreed. Maldynado stuck out his tongue at the mention of tutors. Conversation turned to what they’d been taught that day, compared to what Amaranthe had endured at school, and the day drifted by.

Weeks drifted by, and then months, and Amaranthe only got more and more tense, because she heard no talk of spending time by the river, not even as summer approached its peak. She saw Tia nearly every other day, and Maldynado a little less often, so she knew Tia was still quite alive. The days kept getting hotter though, so Amaranthe kept waiting. Kept her ears open, and made sure to ask Mrs Mevell, every day, where Tia happened to be when she arrived.

Her heart nearly stopped the day that Mrs Mevell answered with, “I think she followed her brother and his friends down to the river to play.”

 _You’re going to be too late_. The thought echoed through her head, grinding all other thoughts to a halt. It took all her willpower not to just bolt out of the house and race for the river. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to explain how she _knew_. After a pause, in which Amaranthe forced herself to scuff her foot on the floor and peek up at Mrs Mevell. “Do you think Ms Cochovosk would be mad if I went and joined them? I’ll work my hours, I swear, but-”

“Oh, get gone with you, girl!” Mrs Mevell barked. “Kid like you shouldn’t be worrying about work anyway. Go play. I’ll tell Ms Cochovosk you’re sick and can’t work.”

“ _Thank you_ , Mrs Mevell!” Amaranthe gasped out, and bolted for the door. She heard the large woman snort at that, but then she was out on the street. She prayed that all the time spent running the lake trail and occasional practices with the other girls in her neighbourhood at the tracks would pay off as she raced out of the city towards the river. The Marblecrest house was fairly close to the river, so it didn’t take her long. Her lungs were burning when she arrived, though, and she swore to herself she’d run further and harder on the lake trail next time.

Shouts and laughter drew her to the right part of the river, and she nearly burst into tears of relief when she saw Tia, still alive. _Not too late_. Amaranthe thought, pausing to catch her breath. Tia was standing thigh-deep in water, the skirt of her sunflower-yellow summer dress tied up around her thighs in a vain attempt to keep it dry, and her sleeves rolled up as she bent to grab something out of the water.

Even without knowing what she knew, the mother in Amaranthe twitched at the sight of such a small child standing in such rough water, and that instinct drove her closer. “Amaranthe!” One of the boys upriver called, spotting her. Deret, Amaranthe realised, and she waved back, but didn’t stop jogging towards where Tia was standing. She looked up at the shout, a wide smile splitting her face when she spotted Amaranthe.

Tia raised her hand to wave, and something about the movement must have upset her balance, because she slipped, tipped over backwards, and vanished under the water. Amaranthe was sprinting towards her before she fully registered what had happened. She veered downstream from where Tia had gone under, scanning the water even as she raced towards the bank and flung herself in. The alarmed shouts from the boys were cut off as the water closed over her head.

The current immediately began to pull at her, and for now, she let it as she forced her eyes open and scanned the water, only fighting it enough to keep herself mostly upright. It took her several heart-stopping seconds to spot the flash of colour, Tia’s bright yellow dress, but then she swam towards it as hard as she could. She caught hold of fabric and pulled. A flailing body slammed into her, and she ignored the elbow that nearly gave her a black eye to kick clumsily off the bottom of the river towards the surface.

It took longer than Amaranthe would have liked, but Tia was conscious enough to gasp for air the moment she could. Amaranthe did the same, but only one breath before she forced herself to hold it again. Tia was spluttering and gagging and coughing, and it was more important for the panicky nine year old to keep her mouth above water than it was for Amaranthe. The current tugged at her, and waves splashed in her face, but she kept her legs kicking as hard as she could, and looked around. They were in the middle of the slagging river, and far enough downstream that Amaranthe could no longer see the boys.

Amaranthe adjusted her hold on Tia, putting her back to Amaranthe’s chest and then leaning back, the better to ensure Tia’s mouth stayed above water. Then she angled them towards the bank nearest Stumps. “Am-” Tia began, then choked again.

“Mmhm.” Amaranthe hummed so she didn’t have to open her mouth. It was hard enough just keeping them both above water, when the current kept trying to drag them under, but Amaranthe refused to give in, despite her burning muscles and aching lungs. Tia helped, but she didn’t have the experience or the same endurance as Amaranthe. Then one of Amaranthe’s kicks scraped her heel against the pebbly bottom, and a few more kicks angled to avoid bruising her foot again, took her to water shallow enough for them to stand. Amaranthe was careful about getting her feet under her, because the water was still pulling at them, and twice her feet slipped on the pebbles and threatened to send them under again.

She got her feet under her, and set Tia upright too. The other girl slipped several times, her breathing harsh and panicked and worsening with every near-miss. Amaranthe kept a hand locked around Tia’s arm as they slogged their way to shore. Once they were clear of the water and the muddy, slippery bank, Tia collapsed to her knees and burst into tears. Amaranthe stared at her for a long moment, then sat down beside her and slung an arm over Tia’s shoulders. “Let’s not… do that again… yeah?” She panted.

Tia spluttered a laugh that turned into more sobs, and flung her arms around Amaranthe, nearly bowling her over. Amaranthe returned the hug, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Tia’s back. “It’s okay.” Amaranthe murmured gently. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” She thought with a pang of her daughter, who had usually flung herself at Sicarius when she was in a state like this. It had taken him a good while to get used to the idea that verbal reassurance was necessary, but somehow his factual ‘I’m here. You are safe.’ worked just as well as Amaranthe’s more verbose cooing. She wished he was there with her now, with an intensity that startled her, even though she knew Tia would be unlikely to react all that well to his ominous presence.

“Tia! Amaranthe!”

The voice was high with panic, but still recognisable. “We’re here!” Amaranthe called back. “We’re fine!” And a moment later, Maldynado came crashing out of the trees, face pale and eyes wide. He stumbled when he spotted them, then sprinted the last couple of meters to drop to his knees beside them and pull them both into a bone-crushing hug. Tia’s sobs renewed, and she latched onto her big brother like a limpet. Maldynado seemed no more inclined to ever let her go, so Amaranthe extracted herself gently, and stood.

The water had pulled half her hair out of her bun, so she let it down the rest of the way, and started wringing it out. She saw that Avery had followed Maldynado, and he looked just as shaken as him. “Are you alright?” He asked, his voice wavering.

“I’m fine.” Amaranthe assured him.

“You just threw yourself in after her.” Avery said, sounding stunned.

“Of course. I had to do something.” Amaranthe replied, wondering what he was trying to say.

Avery shook his head. “You couldn’t have known you’d be able to get both of you out before-” He stopped, cutting himself off with a small choking noise, then shaking his head again.

Oh. Amaranthe shrugged. “I had to do something.” She said again.

“Thank you.” Amaranthe turned to blink at Maldynado. He was still holding Tia, who was sitting half in his lap now, burrowed into his shoulder and shaking intermittently with sobs. Maldynado was looking up at Amaranthe with tear-reddened eyes, and a surprisingly solemn look on his face. “Thank you for saving her.” Maldynado said again, and his voice turned thick with tears half way through.

Amaranthe offered him a gentle smile. “I’m just glad I could.” She said simply.

They stayed there for a while longer, just letting the reality of the situation sink in. After a while Amaranthe pulled herself together and approached Maldynado and Tia. “Come on,” she said gently, “we should get you two back home and into dry clothes.”

Maldynado sniffed and nodded, and scrambled to his feet. It was made awkward by the way Tia refused to let go of him, so he ended up carrying her. They trooped back up the river, then back along the path into the city. Half way there they ran into Deret and some of the other servants. The men and women took one look at the bedraggled party, then ushered them back towards the house, as if they’d needed the urging.

Lady Marblecrest was waiting in the front hall, pacing, her face tear-stained. She gasped when she saw Tia in Maldynado’s arms, and flung herself at her children. Her hysterics set Tia off again after their walk had calmed her into a stunned sort of silence. Through the crying, Amaranthe managed to understand enough of what Lady Marblecrest was babbling to put together that Deret had run back to the house after Amaranthe had dived in after Tia, and relayed the story to the first adult he’d come across. Lady Marblecrest had raised the alarm, and sent the servants out to search for Tia, even though there was little they’d be able to do, arriving so long after Tia had gone under.

Amaranthe tried not to intrude on the moment, but Lord Marblecrest approached her, and loomed over her. He was a fairly handsome man, Amaranthe supposed – although she doubted he’d ever, even in his youth, held a candle to Maldynado – with salt-and-pepper hair a bit longer than most warrior-caste men wore it, and a stern face. “I hear you saved my daughter.” He said.

“Yes, my lord.” Amaranthe said quietly.

It wasn’t quiet enough. Lady Marblecrest heard her and finally released Tia long enough to descend on Amaranthe. “Oh, thank you! You dear, brave girl! Thank you for saving my baby!” She exclaimed, pressing a kiss to Amaranthe’s forehead. Amaranthe resisted the urge to scrub at the spot with a handkerchief. “How can we ever repay you?”

“Oh, it’s fine, my lady. I-”

“Nonsense.” Lady Marblecrest announced. “You saved my daughter’s _life_. If there’s anything we can do for you, some favour, just name it, my dear girl, and we’ll see it done. You deserve a reward for such a brave, selfless act.”

“Really, I-” Amaranthe began, then stopped, considering.

“What is it?” Lady Marblecrest asked with a knowing look. “You’ve thought of something.”

Amaranthe ducked her head. “Well, I want to go to Mildawn Business Academy for Girls, when I’m old enough, but… it’s just me and my dad at home, and he’s a miner, so he doesn’t make very much-”

“Consider it done.” Lady Marblecrest declared. Lord Marblecrest pressed his lips together, but didn’t dispute his wife’s offer. “The Mabrlecrests will pay for your education at Mildawn.” She nodded, looking pleased. “That’s very fitting. You gave my daughter a future, so now we can give you a future.” She mused.

“Thank you, my lady.” Amaranthe said, reeling. “Thank you so much.”

Lady Marblecrest waved her off, then hollered for a maid to come and help Tia and Amaranthe into dry clothes. Amaranthe felt just as much in shock as Tia appeared to be. They wound up sat together on a bench in a shaded courtyard with mugs of iced apple juice and a plate of pastries, with Maldynado sitting quietly nearby and Lady Marblecrest hovering.

“How did you pull me out?” Tia asked quietly, making Amaranthe jump.

She blinked and looked over. “Um?” She asked eloquently.

Tia blinked at her, looking very small. “In the river, it was like-” She shuddered and curled in on herself even more. Lady Marblecrest hushed her, but Tia ignored her and pressed on. “I know how to swim, but I couldn’t even figure out which was up. And then you were there and you held me out of the water the _whole time_ , and got us to shore.”

Amaranthe shrugged. She thought of the training Sicarius had put her through the first year they’d known each other, the hours spent in the lake during the months it wasn’t iced over, treading water with bricks over her head and swimming laps while he threw things at her. She’d never put up with quite that much training afterwards, when they settled down and started a family, but she’d never stopped, either. “I run in the Junior Games. They’re coming up, so I’ve spent a lot of time at the tracks, and running the lake trail. I guess that helped.” She explained, because she couldn’t talk about the rest.

Tia nodded, more to herself than anything. “I want to do that, too.” She said finally. Amaranthe blinked at her. “I don’t ever want to feel like that again.” Tia explained. “Like I can’t do _anything_ , like I’m just _helpless_.” Her eyes filled with tears, but she seemed too tired to cry anymore.

Amaranthe glanced at Lady Marblecrest, who looked dubious, but wasn’t protesting. Abruptly, Amaranthe decided that whether Lady Marblecrest approved or not, she was going to teach Tia how to fight, along-side their running practice. “Okay. I usually go for a run after work, so you can always come with me and we can do it together.” She offered. Tia managed a wan smile as she nodded.

“I want to go to bed now.” Tia declared in a tiny voice, and within moments Lady Marblecrest had swept her away, leaving Amaranthe and Maldynado sitting in the courtyard alone.

“I don’t suppose going running would help me.” Maldynado muttered. Amaranthe turned to him in surprise. He glanced up at her, then immediately looked away again. “I was _right there_ , when she- when she went under, and I- I couldn’t do _anything_.”

Amaranthe reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. I got lucky.” It chilled her, how lucky she’d been. She hadn’t planned this very well at all. She’d have to do better in the future, or she might mess up the lives she was trying so hard to save. “It was _luck_ that I was there, in the right place to go in after her. It was luck that I even spotted her down there. Luck that I could reach her.” Maldynado said nothing, but he nodded faintly to show he’d heard what she’d said. It broke her heart to see him so crushed. “You’re going to drive her nuts, hovering over her, aren’t you?” Amaranthe asked lightly.

Maldynado looked up, startled, then snorted. “Probably.” He agreed, starting to smile.

“Good.” Amaranthe decided, smiling back. “That’s how it should be.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had some plot troubles, which is why this is later than I expected. Sorry about that. I should have the next chapter up soon, but I'm still working out some of the kinks in my plot, so who knows. Anyway, have the beginnins of Amaranthe's second major plot~

Amaranthe’s father stared at her, blank faced in his shock. Amaranthe had to resist the urge to fiddle with the hem of the dress Lady Marblecrest had forced her into, in lieu of her wet shirt and trousers. It was beautiful, the fabric fine and softer than feathers, the colours vibrant. “Let me get this straight.” Her father said slowly, massaging his brow with two fingers. “You saved Tia Marblecrest’s life, so now the Marblecrest’s are going to fund your education?” He checked, stern and unyielding.

“Yes.” Amaranthe confirmed, wincing. She might have lived the last thirty years without her father, but that tone still affected her like she was _actually_ nine years old. The look he levelled at her had the same effect, with his eyebrows drawn together, a knot of lines etched in the middle, and his lips pressed into a thin line.

“That’s. Good, I suppose.” Her father said stiffly.

Amaranthe wanted to roll her eyes, but thought she’d better not at the moment. “It’s not charity. It’s just… payment for services rendered.”

Her father’s hand dropped from his forehead to covering his eyes. “Payment for-” He snorted. He didn’t smile, but Amaranthe thought he looked less annoyed. “Well, you’re going to do just fine at Mildawn, that’s for sure.” He muttered, shaking his head. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you saved this girl’s life by _risking your own_. What were you _thinking_ , Amaranthe?! Jumping into the river like that when you already _knew_ how dangerous it was!”

“I was thinking that I had to do _something_!” Amaranthe retorted, since she couldn’t tell him that saving Tia had been her only reason for working for the Marblecrest’s. “I couldn’t just _leave her to drown_! What sort of friend would that make me?”

Her father slumped, all his anger turning into weariness. “I know. And I’m real proud of you, flower, but… you scare me half to death some days.”

Amaranthe couldn’t have kept herself from hugging him if she’d tried. “I don’t mean to.” She whispered as he hugged her back tightly, almost clinging.

“I know.”

Eventually he let her go, and they went on with their evening without poking any more of those volatile issues today. Even so, dinner was subdued, with both of them too lost in their own worries to fill the silence with conversation. Amaranthe wasn’t sure what, exactly, was putting that perturbed expression on her father’s face, but her own worries consumed her attention. She thought of each of her friends, and where they were and what she could do to help them. She had successfully attached herself to Maldynado, and saved Tia, so all she had to do in regards to them was to stay friends, and that wasn’t a hardship.

She would have to find a way to introduce Maldynado to Evrial, though. And she wanted to save Evrial’s mother, if she could. She had succeeded with Tia, after all, but she couldn’t begin to imagine how she might attach herself to the Yara family for long enough to repeat that plan. She didn’t think anyone would believe her if she tried to say she wanted an apprenticeship with them, not since by then she’d have been studying at Mildawn for several years. Perhaps, if she claimed she was thinking of starting a business involving weapons? That was still not enough to guarantee she’d be present when she was needed, not when _three hours every day_ nearly hadn’t been enough.

She still had years to worry about that, though. She pushed it aside and moved on. Books would still be teaching at the university, his son only just born or soon to be on the way, and surely he’d be happy for a while longer without her interference. She could leave him be. The thought ached, and she decided maybe she’d try to sneak into one of his classes. The idea of seeing him in his element like she hadn’t ever had the chance before cheered her a little.

That decided, she turned her thoughts to Akstyr, who would be little more than a baby right now, with a whole life full of hardship in front of him. She didn’t think there was much a nine year old girl could do about an absent father and a mother that didn’t care. It wasn’t like she could take Akstyr in, when her dad was already working himself to the bone just to take care of the two of them.

Why did it have to be her dad though? They might not be able to take Akstyr in, but _Books_ was a Professor, not a miner, and he _had_ shown some paternal feelings towards Akstyr during that awful civil war, Amaranthe remembered. Mostly exasperation and lectures, but it had definitely been a different tone to how he interacted with Maldynado and Basilard. If Amaranthe could somehow get Books to adopt Akstyr, that would be perfect. Not least of all because Books was well-read enough that he would be more accepting of Akstyr’s desire to learn the Mental Sciences than most Turgonians, and he might even accept it when Amaranthe found Akstyr a teacher.

She couldn’t just abscond with a baby and drop it off on Books’ doorstep, although the idea was tempting, especially when the vicious thought crossed her mind that Akstyr’s mother might not even notice if her baby went missing. She’d need to be craftier about it, get Books invested, make him think the idea was his own. How to do that when they both occupied such different social spheres was still eluding her for the moment, but she’d come up with something. Perhaps she could introduce Akstyr to Books’ son, encourage them to be friends. Then a little nudge here and there might be enough to get Books concerned about Akstyr’s situation. Still, that would have to wait a year or two before the boys would be old enough to actually make friends.

She could work on finding a way to speak to Books in the meantime, and she tidied those plans away to make space for considering Basilard. He was well out of her reach, all the way in Mangdoria at the moment. There would be little she could do to affect his life until he was already in Turgonia, a slave. She would do what she could to keep him from losing his voice, from being forced to kill to survive, of course, but it felt like not enough.

She _wanted_ to try and prevent the assassination of Chief Yull. It had clearly affected Basilard greatly, and though it might keep him from ever coming to Turgonia, she wanted to be able to do that for him. Unfortunately, she was nine years old, and the Emperor did not change his plans for the whim of a single nine year old girl.

If she was honest, it was not only for Basilard’s sake that she wanted to stop that particular assassination. She thought of Sicarius and Sespian just as much when she thought about saving Chief Yull. Any opportunity she had to prevent Sicarius dumping a pile of human heads in front of Sespian, she would take it. She just didn’t see how.

Perhaps she should do as Rias had done with the Kyattese president, and send a message to Mangdoria. It would be better to go herself, of course, to ensure her message was delivered to the right people, and that it was believed, but again she came up against the problem of being _nine years old_. It was beginning to grate, just a little.

She shook her head, frustrated. _Play to your strengths_ , she reminded herself. What could nine year old girls do that fifty year old women could not? They could pass unseen, and get into places that adults couldn’t. That would help if a weeks-long absence as she snuck into Mangdoria wouldn’t be _noticed_ by half a dozen people. In any other circumstances, she might have risked it, but she couldn’t bear the thought of worrying her father that much. For her to just disappear, and not be found for possibly a month… Well, once, her own daughter had gone missing for a single day, and Amaranthe had thought she was going to lose her mind until Sespian showed up on their doorstep with her.

Amaranthe paused, her fork half way to her mouth as she considered. That had not been the last time Altaria had, in a fit of teenage pique at her parents, run to Sespian to get away from them. After the first few times, they’d stopped worrying so much, since they knew where she was. They’d always checked in with Sespian, just to make sure, but… The point was, there was no reason her father couldn’t know where she was if she wanted to go to Mangdoria.

“You’ve got your plotting face on, flower.” Her father sighed fondly, clearly prompting an explanation.

Amaranthe spoke before she could think the better of her idea. “I was just thinking.” She began, and her father gave a playful groan. She wrinkled her nose at him. “Well, if the Marblecrest’s are going to pay for Mildawn, that money you’ve been saving up could go towards something else?” She suggested hopefully.

Her father’s humour faded. “I know you like to think the best of people, Ammy, and that’s a quality to be proud of, but I’m not going to risk your future on the spur-of-the-moment promise of a ‘Crest. That money is staying right where it is until you’re enrolled at Mildawn.” He stated firmly.

Amaranthe opened her mouth to argue, then paused to do some quick maths in her head. If Sespian had been five when Sicarius had been sent to kill Chief Yull, it wouldn’t be happening for another… two and a half years, she thought. By then, Amaranthe should already be enrolled in Mildawn. Of course, it would be cutting it a bit fine. “Perhaps I can convince Lady Marblecrest to make an early deposit for my school fee?” She wondered aloud, prodding at the last few peas on her plate with her fork. “I don’t know why she would though, unless…” She brightened, looking up at her father with a smile. “If I can convince Tia to go as well, Lady Marblecrest would want to _ensure_ her daughter has a place, and she might as well pay my fee while she’s there, save everyone’s time.” She chirped.

Her father stared at her for a long moment, but Amaranthe was well used to stunning men into silence with her plans, so that didn’t faze her. No, what caused her smile to dim was something _disconcerted_ lurking in her father’s eyes when he looked at her. It was gone the moment she noticed it, though, and she had to wonder if it had been there at all. “Alright. Now is when you tell me what you want that money for so badly.”

Amaranthe lined her peas up into a neat little square of three-by-three. “I was thinking we could go on a holiday.” She said after a pregnant pause. “You’ve been working so hard- we’ve _both_ been working hard-” She interjected, adding a touch of childish pride to her voice just to see her father try not to smile. “-and I thought it might be nice to go somewhere peaceful and relax for a week or two.”

“Somewhere peaceful?” Her father echoed, amused. “Like Kyatt?” His tone was dry, and a little bit sad, and Amaranthe could tell he was only humouring her. The idea of a vacation that long seemed ludicrous to him. And maybe it was. There was no guarantee he’d be able to get a few days off work, let alone a few _weeks_. Amaranthe, personally, wouldn’t protest if he just _quit_ , but she knew he didn’t see that as a possibility. He worried a lot about money, and Amaranthe didn’t blame him, but she’d lived for almost a year without a typical sort of job, and she’d picked up tricks for how to get money and food less-than-honestly.

“I’d like to go to Kyatt some day.” Amaranthe mused. After all, it would be a good idea to get in touch with Rias and Tikaya. Not least of all because it would make both Sicarius and Sespian happy to know them – again – but also because they had proved to be useful allies against Forge before. If she couldn’t prevent Forge from unearthing the Behemoth, she wanted Tikaya on hand to blow it up again. Hopefully this time before Amaranthe could use it to kill hundreds of innocent people. That and, she thought with a spike of vicious satisfaction, Rias was a threat to Emperor Raumesys, and Amaranthe would dearly love to drop his name and watch the old bastard squirm.

Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she forced herself back on topic. “But no, I wasn’t thinking of tropical beeches and gaudy shirts. I was thinking Mangdoria.” She announced brightly.

Her father stared at her again. “Mangdoria?” He repeated dubiously.

“Yup.” Amaranthe chirped brightly.

“Isn’t that up in the mountains somewhere?”

Amaranthe nodded. “They got forced further and further up by Turgonian invaders, since they’re a pacifist culture. Their religion actually forbids killing another human in any way, even in self-defence.” She paused, then pulled a face. “Condemning someone to hell for defending their life is pretty stupid, in my opinion, but…” She trailed off and shrugged.

“Some people think ancestor spirits are pretty stupid.” Her father pointed out.

Amaranthe nodded, and only just barely kept herself from pointing out that she’d seen proof that spirits lingered after death. At least, they did when the spirit belonged to an extremely powerful practitioner. She wasn’t sure how it applied to more ordinary people. “I just think it’d be good for us to take some time off.” She said, getting back to the point.

Her father sighed. “You know we can’t, flower.” He said wearily.

“I know you think we can’t, but-” Amaranthe countered.

“There is no way I could get that much time off work.” Her father stated.

“You could _ask_.” Amaranthe suggested, then bit back a smile. “Or I could ask for you. I’m pretty good at convincing people to do what I want. I’m earnest and wholesome.”

“You’re a sneaky little troublemaker is what you are.” Her father retorted lightly.

“Trouble- _finder_.” Amaranthe corrected, and she couldn’t quite help the slightly wistful edge to her voice. With all the force of a runaway train, she was hit full in the chest with how much she missed her husband. She wrestled with it, pushed it down, fought to keep it off her face, but she wasn’t sure how much she successfully hid. She ducked her head over her plate and scooped up the last few peas, shoving them into her mouth.

She glanced up to find her father watching her with tired, confused sorrow in his eyes. “You do need a holiday, don’t you?” He asked finally.

Amaranthe swallowed down the words that tried to claw their way out of her throat. What she needed was to sneak into the Imperial Barracks and find Sicarius. Or let him find her, as it would probably wind up being. If he had wound up in the past like her, it would be perfect, just to hold him again. But she didn’t have any guarantee of that, and the idea of trying to explain to a Sicarius who didn’t know her, who didn’t love her, who she was to him… It was laughable. She’d be dead before she could get three words out. It was too much risk for not enough gain. It might make her feel better today, if she didn’t die horribly on her future husband’s blade, but it wouldn’t help anybody. She could help him by keeping him from dumping a sack of severed heads on the floor in front of Sespian, though. “I really do.” She agreed thickly, and hated herself a little bit for using this against her father this way.

Her father took a deep breath. “Maybe I can get a couple of days off, and we can…” He trailed off, trying to think of something they could do or somewhere they could go in just two days that wouldn’t cost too much money. “There might be something good on at the theatre.” He mused slowly.

Amaranthe smiled a little dryly. “You should save those days and come watch me race in the Junior Games next month. Tia is going to come practise with me, so she might decide to run as well. You can cheer for both of us.”

“Alright.” Her father agreed, but he didn’t return the smile. “I’m sorry we can’t go hiking in Mangdoria like you want.” He offered.

“Oh, I haven’t given up yet. I’ll figure something out.” She informed him brightly. That, at least, did get him to smile, though he didn’t look convinced. It didn’t matter though, Amaranthe was convinced enough for both of them.

The next day, after her hours at the Marblecrest mansion were up, Amaranthe was joined at the lake trail by Tia and Maldynado. It was strange to walk them through the stretches and exercises Sicarius had once drilled into her, which she’d adjusted somewhat to compensate for her being nine years old, but not much.

“You do this _every day_?” Maldynado gasped when they were sufficiently warmed up.

“Every other day.” Amaranthe corrected. “The days in between I do weight lifting in the lake.”

“ _In_ the lake?” He echoed incredulously.

Tia looked daunted, and eyed the water near them with visible trepidation. Amaranthe put a hand on her shoulder, and she jumped. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, obviously.” She said, and Tia gave her a relieved smile. Amaranthe considered the lake. “I can replace the water training for agility exercises. They’re easier with a partner.”

“Yeah? Why?” Tia wondered. Amaranthe couldn’t help but smile. If Tia was asking ‘why’, then she couldn’t be _too_ badly traumatised.

“You get to throw things at each other so you can practise dodging and situational awareness.” Amaranthe informed her brightly. Tia looked puzzled by her enthusiasm, which made Amaranthe feel a little sheepish. “Trust me, it’s very satisfying when you’ve been suffering through an hour of it, and then it’s your turn to throw things.” She pointed out. Tia thought about that, then nodded. “And we can run the tracks today, if you’d prefer, rather than the lake trail.”

Tia shook her head. “No, I- I think I’ll be okay so long as I don’t have to go _in_ the water.” She decided.

“Okay.” Amaranthe agreed, looking her in the eye to make sure it wasn’t bravado. But Tia wasn’t really prone to that, and there was nothing but sincerity in her eyes now, so they set off. Amaranthe had been forced, over the last year and a half, to get used to the limitations of her younger body, but she hadn’t noticed how quickly she’d been improving until today. Tia and Maldynado, despite being relatively active children, tired out much quicker than she did. She forced herself to stop when she noticed them struggling, and Tia immediately flopped down at the base of a tree, while Maldynado braced his hands on his knees. Amaranthe offered them a sheepish smile.

“You’re insane.” Maldynado accused her.

“I get that a lot.” Amaranthe agreed easily.

Maldynado looked over at Tia. “Are you really planning to do this every day?”

“Yes.” Tia replied on a heavy exhale.

The long groan Maldynado let out very effectively communicated what he thought of that, but he straightened and started stretching out his weary muscles. “We’re going to have to run _back_ as well, aren’t we?” He grumbled.

“Once we’ve taken a short break and caught our breath, yes.” Amaranthe confirmed.

True to her word, Amaranthe let them recover before she nudged them into starting back. Tia was true to her word, too, and kept coming with Amaranthe, trailing a reluctant Maldynado, every single day. Amaranthe kept her promise to herself, and on the first day of Tia’s second full week she brought up the idea of combat training.

“Tia…?” Amaranthe began, feigning hesitation as they rested. She’d brought them to the arena to practice today, and Maldynado had been timing them running laps, until Amaranthe had declared a break. Maldynado had wandered off to find a vendor selling drinks, and Tia was out of breath, but looking distinctly proud of herself for her time, which was Amaranthe’s goal. She gave Amaranthe her attention with guileless ease that almost made Amaranthe feel guilty. “Do you ever want to learn to fight?”

Tia blinked at her in shock. “Well, no. Not really. That’s boy stuff, isn’t it?”

Amaranthe pulled a face. “It _shouldn’t be_.”

“Huh.” Tia said, curling her knees up to her chest. Amaranthe knew that tone, and knew that a question would be coming next. Sure enough, a moment later, Tia asked, “Why do you want to fight?” without looking at Amaranthe.

“I’m a headstrong, clever, determined girl who’s going to become a business woman in a hyper-masculine warrior-centered society.” Amaranthe announced with dry humour. “I’m going to make enemies. I want to be able to knock them on their asses when they decide to play to their strengths and come at me with their fists.”

Tia thought about that for a long time, then nodded. “You know, you’re my age, but you talk more like an adult.” She said abruptly. Amaranthe winced. She was _trying_ to be a nine-year-old, but it was so very hard when she remembered fifty years of life, of experience. She had clearer memories of her _daughter_ being nine than she had of being nine herself. “And you have all these plans, like an adult, what you’re going to do, and _how_ you’re going to do it. I can come up with all these grand ideas of what I want to do when I’m grown up, but… you don’t think ‘when I’m grown-up’, you just _do_.”

“I guess.” Amaranthe agreed carefully.

“You want to learn to fight not like Mal does, because it’s fun and it’s what you _do_ , but because it’s a… a thing you _need_ , to do what you want. And Mildawn. You don’t think ‘I’d love to go to a nice school’, you pick one and you got my mum to pay for it so that you _could_. I wouldn’t have thought of that.”

“You haven’t ever needed to.” Amaranthe told her gently. “Tia, don’t regret that you’ve had a comfortable childhood.”

“But you _haven’t_.” Tia insisted, turning to look at Amaranthe, her eyes blazing. “That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it? You’re all grown up because you _have to be_ , because you don’t have a mum to fuss over you, and your dad didn’t get a load of money and a big house from _his_ dad.” She paused, then set her jaw. “That’s why you could get us both out of the river, too. Not because you run a lot, but because you think like a grown up.”

“I… guess so.” Amaranthe hedged. The conversation had spiralled out of her control, and she wasn’t sure how to get it back on track. Or even if she should. There was something she recognised in Tia, that she saw on her daughter’s face when she was fifteen and _sick_ of being overshadowed by her parents, that she remembered from her _own_ face in the mirror, when she was seventeen and lying about her age to get into the enforcer academy. Something life-changing.

“I don’t _ever_ want to be that helpless _ever again_.” Tia stated, unyielding. “So if you think learning to fight will help me, I’ll do it. You don’t have to persuade me.”

Amaranthe stared at her. “How did you-?”

Tia grinned at her, light and carefree. “Mom’s friends do that sort of thing _all the time_ , when they want you to do something but they want you to think it was your idea. You don’t have to do that with me, Amaranthe. You’re my friend. You _saved_ my _life_. I trust you.”

Amaranthe hugged her. She couldn’t not. “I might get you killed.” She warned.

“ _I_ might get me killed.” Tia countered, sounding far more grown up than her nine years should allow for. It hurt Amaranthe’s heart.

“This is a little bigger than slipping in the river.” Amaranthe pressed.

“I don’t care. If it might kill me, it might kill you. You didn’t leave me in the river on my own, so I won’t leave you, either.” Tia insisted.

Amaranthe scanned their surroundings subtly. Then, when she was sure they were alone, she met Tia’s gaze again. “I’m planning to sabotage the Emperor.” She said boldly. Tia choked on thin air, staring at her in utter disbelief. Amaranthe met her stare and waited for her words to process. It took a while.

“What? _Why_?” Tia finally demanded.

Amaranthe bit back a laugh, because it was so much like Tia, to ask why instead of telling her she was crazy. She wasn’t quite ready to try explaining time-travel, so she cast about for a reason that Tia would understand. “Because… because he’s a jerk to his son. And his son is going to be an _amazing_ Emperor, and I want him to inherit an Empire he can be proud of, not the one he’s going to get if Raumesys has his way.”

Tia chewed on her lip as she stared at Amaranthe, visibly conflicted. While she was mulling that over, Maldynado returned, carrying three glasses of fruit juice. “Look what I found!” He crowed in delight, and handed Tia and Amaranthe a glass each. “It’s made with some weird fruit all the way from Kyatt, and it’s really tasty!” He paused, squinting at Tia. “Are you alright, Tia?” He asked, his tone softening in his concern and turning more serious.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Tia assured him, mustering up a smile that looked almost genuine. She tried the juice, and exclaimed over it, successfully distracting Maldynado. Amaranthe watched her, feeling bemused and proud and guilty.

After they’d finished their work out, and Amaranthe had thoroughly scandalised Maldynado by showing Tia some basic self-defence moves, they caught a trolley that would take them past the Ridge and then on to Amaranthe’s district. Tia caught Amaranthe’s wrist just before their stop came up, and met her gaze solemnly. “I’m with you.” She said, and then she and Maldynado were gone, hopping off the trolley and darting away up the street back to their home.

It wasn’t until a couple of days later that Amaranthe managed to get Tia on her own again. She was quietly impressed by how Tia managed to go about her day as if nothing was wrong, and she hadn’t been sure if Tia was that good an actress, or if she really had no idea how huge and life-threatening this thing was that she’d agreed to. When she finally managed to get the other girl alone, as they jogged along the lake trail, leaving Maldynado lounging about and ‘protecting’ their things, she realised that Tia was just a very, very good actress. The moment they were alone, she stopped pretending, and the fear shone through clear in her eyes.

“Are you _sure_ you want to help me with this?” Amaranthe asked, feeling guilty, but not guilty enough to _stop_ Tia, if she said-

“I’m _sure_.” Tia insisted stubbornly. “If you say the Emperor isn’t a good man, I believe you.”

“Just because I saved your life-”

“You talk like an adult, but you never treat me like I’m stupid like most adults do. You _do_ stuff, you take on these big ideas that people have, and talk about, but never actually do anything about, and you _do stuff_ about it. I want to be a part of that. I don’t want to be like all my brothers, talking about what they _would do if only_ while they sit on their butts _not doing anything_. I want to do stuff too, I want to… to _change_ stuff.”

“You want to make history.” Amaranthe summed up for her.

“Yes! That!” Tia agreed, eyes lighting up.

Amaranthe nodded. “Alright then. Here’s the plan.” She began, and Tia shifted to jog a little closer so they could talk quietly without risking being overheard. “You’re going to go to Mildawn with me.” Amaranthe said, and Tia blinked at her in surprise. “You’re going to tell your mum you want to go, do whatever you have to, to convince her, and make sure – this is the important bit – make _sure_ that she’ll make an early deposit to secure your place.”

Tia nodded, looking thoughtful. “And yours?” She asked.

Amaranthe beamed. “Exactly.”

“Why?” Tia asked.

“Because it’s the only way I can convince my dad to spend his savings on a trip to Mangdoria.” Amaranthe informed her, a little distracted, plotting out the other half of her plan. It was going to be a little difficult to pull off as a nine year old, but she thought she could manage. She just needed to finalise some of the details.

“Mangdoria?”

“Yes. I need to speak to their Chief.”

“About the Emperor.” Tia concluded, putting the pieces together faster than Amaranthe would have expected. She nodded, looking curiously at her. Tia shrugged. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend. Father says that all the time.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot problems mostly sorted for the time being, so here's another chapter, and the next one shouldn't be too far behind. I hate writing action scenes with a passion, so the last half of this chapter kicked my butt so hard, but I'm pretty pleased with how it came out, eventually...

The general university was a rather boring building. Not particularly large, and certainly nothing to the Polytechnic in Kyatt, which Amaranthe had visited in her previous life quite often, but not remarkably small, either. Turgonian architecture at its most sturdy, square, and efficient. It made Amaranthe think of Sespian, and the creative elegance in his designs that was such a contrast to buildings like this.

Shaking off the nostalgia, Amaranthe slipped into a crowd of students and skittered up the steps and into the university entirely unnoticed. From there, she managed to make her way to the history section with only a couple of people stopping her to ask what she was doing there. She gave both of them the same lie about looking for an older brother who’d promised to spend the afternoon with her, let them point her towards reception, and then continued on her way once they were out of sight.

A bit of loitering in the history section, which was decorated with scenes of grand Turgonian conquest and the greatest military heroes of the past seven hundred years, and Amaranthe found Books’s classroom when she heard his voice drifting out of an open door. She slipped inside on the heels of a gaggle of rowdy boys, and tucked herself into the back corner to listen.

It took her several seconds to spot Books, because, fool that she was, she’d been looking for the man she remembered; silver-streaked and worn and hangdog, hardened by misfortune and Sicarius’s training. Professor Mugdildor was straight-backed and proud, if far more awkward in his own body than Amaranthe remembered, and he carried a distinct air of exasperated and impatient authority.

She was unprepared for the sudden jolt of grief that hit her when she saw him. He’d been her friend and confidant during that crazy year leading up to the revolution, something like a slightly odd but beloved uncle, and she’d _missed him_. She had to fight hard to keep the tears back, because people might overlook one small child, but a _crying_ child got attention. Surreptitiously, she wiped her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and reminded herself that she wasn’t going to let him die this time. Now wasn’t the time to be silly and emotional.

After a few more minutes, and several more students trickling in, Professor Mugdildor called them to attention – and then did it again, louder and more waspishly – and began his lecture. Amaranthe, used to his somewhat long-winded and rambling talks, found it fascinating how the combination of a time-limit and the attention of a whole room affected his style of lecture. He was less prone to wandering off on a tangent, but he got steadily more verbose as time went on.

Amaranthe folded her arms on the desk in front of her, propped her chin on her arms, and listened to Books explain all about how Turgonia conquered its fifth satrapy, and why the borders were where they were. If she closed her eyes, it was all too easy to imagine being twenty five again, tucked away in some unused warehouse, listening to Books lecture Akstyr and Maldynado about some obscure piece of knowledge or other. But she wasn’t, she was fifty, and nine, and she was surrounded by strangers, not friends. She opened her eyes again, and forced herself to look at the room, with its maps tacked to the walls depicting the empire in various stages through the years.

Towards the end of the hour-and-a-half long lecture, Books asked if anyone hand any questions, and there was a lazy shift in the room, as those few who did stuck their hands in the air, and those that didn’t starting packing their notebooks away in preparation. Amaranthe listened with half an ear until the questions trickled to a stop. Then she slid out of her seat and trailed along in the wake of the exodus as the students ambled towards the doors.

A hand landed on her shoulder, halting her progress, and she looked up to find Books staring back, eyebrows raised. “Interested in history?” He asked her dryly.

“Mmhm.” Amaranthe confirmed, swallowing down the urge to cry, or maybe hug him.

A few of the last stragglers leaving the room cast her curious glances, then hurried on their way when Books waved them off with his free hand. “You know, the General University only opened its doors to women a couple of years ago, and I’m fairly sure the minimum age for application is still fifteen.”

Amaranthe weighed her options, and shrugged sheepishly. “I snuck in.” She admitted.

“Mm.” Books agreed. “Why?”

“I like history.” Amaranthe informed him.

Books eyed her for a long moment, then sighed, and guided her back towards the front row of desks. He kicked out a couple of chairs, then sat in one of them. Because she could take a hint, Amaranthe sat in the other one. “You’re not really trying to convince me that you’re interested in the borders of our satrapies and the politics in assigning resources.” He stated.

“Maybe.” Amaranthe countered staunchly.

“You could get in trouble if someone found you here.” Books informed her.

“You found me here.” Amaranthe pointed out. “Does that mean I’m in trouble?”

“Maybe.” Books muttered, which made Amaranthe grin. “Not if you tell me why you’re really here.” He added, which was blatant blackmail, and Amaranthe wasn’t sure if she was offended or not. Even if she was, she decided, it wasn’t helpful so she was going to ignore it. Thinking fast, she tried to come up with an excuse for being there that he might believe. Glancing at him tentatively, she opened her mouth, and then shut it again, to give herself more time to think.

“Well?” Books prompted sternly.

Amaranthe sighed, ducking her head, and lighted on an idea. “Well…” She drew the word out, paused, and then launched into the explanation. “My dad works in the coal mines outside the city.” She told Books, and he frowned at her in confusion. “Do you know anything about their history?” She asked, not needing to fake the hope in her voice.

“They were some of the first mines to be opened in the Empire. Not the current ones specifically, of course, but these mountains have been a source of coal, as well as several other resources, for the Empire almost since its founding.” Books began, still looking bemused, but quickly getting distracted as he warmed to his topic.

“Not the current ones?” Amaranthe interjected curiously, doing her best to appear bright-eyed and attentive.

Books shook his head. “No, the original mines have long since been depleted. The very first is actually open to the public, as a live museum of sorts. Only the upper levels, the lower aren’t safe enough for the incautious to tour around. There are still risks of cave-ins or deposits of poisonous gasses being disturbed. There was a particularly terrible incident a hundred years ago, when whitedamp leaked into the mines and killed several teams before exploding and ruining three separate mines.”

Amaranthe straightened a little, trying to hide her intrigue with worry. “Whitedamp?” She asked. She thought she remembered her father mentioning something like that once.

Books paused with his mouth open, and gave her a startled look that melted into an awkward sort of kindness a moment later. “A toxic, explosive gas that’s sometimes released into mines from deposits deep within the earth. It’s rare, though, and modern innovations have given us much more efficient ways of detecting it before it does any harm to the miners.” He explained. “You don’t have to worry about your father, young lady.”

Amaranthe met his gaze, even though she suspected a nine year old ought to have been reassured by that. “There’s black lung.” She told him simply.

Books winced. “Ah, well…” He began, hesitating. Amaranthe almost smiled at how easily she could read his warring impulses to reassure a child, or not to lie. Because he couldn’t do both.

Amaranthe lowered her head. “You said the old mines had been depleted? That means they got emptied, right?” She checked, even though she knew full well what the word meant. Better to remind Books that she was just nine, even if it cost her a little bit of pride.

“Yes.” Books confirmed, then cleared his throat. “Some others caved in, or various types of damp – dangerous gasses – made them unworkable.”

“What are the different types of damp?” Amaranthe asked.

“Well, whitedamp is the most dangerous, but there’s also-” Books began a very long-winded explanation, and he didn’t seem to notice, or care, when Amaranthe whipped out a notebook to keep track. It was fascinating, even if he did tend to go off on tangents every so often about the history of various incidents, the progress of the means to detect and counter these problems, and other interesting tidbits about the mines themselves.

As the lecture began to wind down, Books finally noticed that Amaranthe was taking notes, and doing it more diligently than most of his actual students did. “Are you… taking notes?” He asked, blinking at her in bewilderment.

“Yes.” Amaranthe made sure her expression was a childish sort of wide-eyed, solemn determination as she looked up. “I have to remember all of these and make sure Dad’s prepared to deal with them.” She explained seriously.

Books’ expression turned pained and sympathetic. Amaranthe suspected he was pitying her father for having to deal with a nine-year-old hell bent on ‘protecting’ him. She wondered if he was also seeing something similar in his own future and wrestling with dawning horror. She tried not to laugh at him, and busied herself carefully tucking her notebook away while she got her expression under control. “Thank you very much, uh, Professor Mugdildor.” She said, only just remembering to use the right name.

“You’re welcome.” Books replied slowly.

Amaranthe gave him a shining, grateful look that wasn’t at all pretend. “If I have any more questions, can I come back?” She asked hopefully.

Books mouthed helplessly for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Since I don’t think you’re allowed in the University unsupervised…” He began, casting about for a piece of paper and a pen on his desk. He grabbed them up and scribbled something down. “This is my home address. You should bring your father with you, so I can meet him and congratulate him for having such a diligent daughter.” He said, handing her the paper. _And so I can apologise for aiding in your mad scheme_ , Amaranthe suspected he wasn’t saying.

She took the paper, almost snatched it, really, because she _had_ been hoping to make friends with Books, but she hadn’t dared to hope it would go this well this soon. “I will!” She chirped. Her father wasn’t the sort to mingle with academics; the few times he’d spoken to her teachers at Mildawn, he’d appeared more uncomfortable than Sicarius at a dance, but she… _hoped_ he and Books might manage to be friends, regardless. After all, Books would be a single father soon enough – Amaranthe didn’t know if his wife had left him already, but she had _no_ idea what she could do to prevent that little bit of misfortune even if it was still in the future – and that might be something they could bond over.

“Alright. Get off with you.” Books said, clapping his hands to his thighs and pushing to his feet. “I have papers to grade, and you have more trouble to get into, I’m sure.” He said dryly.

“Yes, sir.” Amaranthe chirped brightly, hopping up and darting to the door. She thought she heard him mutter something about ‘your poor father’ behind her, and found herself grinning all the way out of the University.

Once she was on the steps, she paused, wondering if she was _really_ going to enact the plan that had come together in her mind, listening to Books talk about how miners dealt with those dangerous damps and various types of cave-in. It was nothing short of sabotage of imperial industry, and she didn’t have her outlaw status to protect her from repercussions. If she was caught…

Well, she might be able to talk herself out of any real trouble, if she played up the petulant child who resented the job that took her father away from her. She’d get branded a trouble maker, and probably be given a massive amount of community service. And it would probably scupper her plans with the Marblecrests, she realised with frustration. They liked her so long as she played at being properly respectful and diligent, but if they heard about her being a ‘miscreant’, they probably _would_ go back on their promise to fund her schooling quicker than you could say ‘fickle’.

“I just have to not get caught then.” Amaranthe muttered to herself, starting off down the street. Because her plan to get to Mangdoria required two things: The Marblecrest’s money _and_ her father getting at least two weeks off work. Her father would never get enough vacation time without intervention, she knew that full well, so she was going to have to do _something_ , and she seriously doubted that anything less than a large-scale threat would halt the mines’ production long enough to give her dad the time they needed to get to Mangdoria and back.

It took her several more days to get her supplies together, and it was before she’d managed to quite work up the nerve to enact her plan that Lady Marblecrest waylaid her on her way out of the house – she’d reduced her work hours to two hours on weekdays, but she hadn’t wanted to quit entirely, since it was such a lovely excuse to visit Tia – to speak to her about Mildawn.

“Oh, Amaranthe, dear!” The woman called, zooming down the stairs at impressive speeds, given the number of layers her skirts had. “I wanted a word with you. Come, come.” She instructed. Amaranthe obediently trotted over, even though she bristled at being called to heel like some sort of exotic pet. “Tia has been _so_ curious about Mildawn ever since you wanted to go, so I thought she and I ought to go have a look around this weekend. I thought it would be a good opportunity for you to get a look at the place as well.” She explained.

“Oh, that would be _wonderful_!” Amaranthe enthused.

“Excellent! Good girl.” Lady marblecrest didn’t quite go as far as patting Amaranthe’s head, but it was close, and Amaranthe was _very_ glad she didn’t. “This Saturday, then. We’ll see you there after lunch, yes? Yes, good. Off with you, then, dear girl. Go play!” She called over her shoulder as she bustled off.

Amaranthe waited until she was out of sight of the house before she gave a dramatic shudder and pulled a face in the direction it was in. Not, perhaps, the most mature reaction, but the longer she spent around Maldynado’s mother, the less she liked the woman.

That Saturday, she put on the dress Lady Marblecrest had given her the day she’d saved Tia, because it was the nicest one she owned, and joined them outside the school at half past noon. Tia looked amazed and intrigued, and Lady Marblecrest gazed around the place down her nose, but with an approving glint in her eyes. They toured the school, which brought back a lot of long-distant memories for Amaranthe, and then they were shown into Ms Worgavic’s office.

Amaranthe couldn’t help the way she tensed up the moment she saw the woman. It had been twenty five years ago and fourteen years in the future that this woman had ordered her tortured for information, but some traumas, while they could fade almost to invisibility, never truly went away. Tia slipped a hand into Amaranthe’s, and when she twitched her head around to look at her, she offered an encouraging smile.

“Ah, Lady Marblecrest.” Ms Worgavic greeted, and then smiled down at Tia and Amaranthe. “And your daughter, Miss Tia, and, I believe you wish to sponsor Miss Amaranthe at our school, yes?” She checked, peering up at Lady Marblecrest over her spectacles.

“That’s right.” Lady Marblecrest agreed, and launched into a dramatic retelling of the day Amaranthe had saved Tia’s life. Amaranthe thought she told it with great assurance, given the fact that she hadn’t been there for most of it. “So, you see, a future for a future seemed a most fair trade.” Lady Marblecrest concluded. “And then Tia was so enraptured with the idea, that we just _had_ to come and see if it would be suitable for her as well.”

“I hope a tour of our facilities convinced you that it most certainly is.” Ms Worgavic replied with an ingratiating smile.

“I would like to discuss your security-” Lady marblecrest pressed, expression hardening.

Amaranthe sat through the ensuing discussion, doing her best to pay attention despite how dreadfully dull she found it. Tia listened too, and she even made some comments here and there, clever little remarks that nudged her mother on when she seemed to be reconsidering the wisdom of sending her Warrior Caste daughter to something so plebeian as business school. By the time they were leaving, Ms Worgavic had two advance cheques for a full seven years at the academy, and Lady Marblecrest had two documents guaranteeing the enrolment of one Tia Marblecrest and one Amaranthe Lokdon into Mildawn Business Academy for Girls.

She gave Amaranthe hers when they went separate ways at the gate. Her stare was borderline _dangerous_ as she pressed the folded up papers into Amaranthe’s hand. “You keep those _very_ safe, you hear me?” She checked, in a tone of voice so stern it startled Amaranthe. “That’s your receipt, and without it, they might not let you in, no matter that I’ve already paid them.” She shot a disapproving sneer at the front of Mildawn. Then, her expression did a complete one-eighty, and she beamed down at Amaranthe. “But you’re a responsible young girl, I’m _sure_ you won’t lose them.” She announced, and patted Amaranthe on the head.

Amaranthe was _almost_ too distracted by the implicit threat she’d picked up on to be offended. Almost. Tia must have caught the expression of indignant rage on her face, because her last look over her shoulder before her mother dragged her into her personal steam carriage was a commiserating grimace. Amaranthe waved to her through the window as they left, then turned her feet towards home, clutching her papers close to her chest.

She spent the rest of the afternoon in a state of mixed anxiety and anticipation. She cleaned up their little one-room apartment until it shone, made dinner, double checked yesterday’s homework, triple checked her supplies – hidden under the loose floorboard under her bed – for her plot, and fidgeted a lot. By the time evening was upon her, Amaranthe realised that this was going to be one of the days her dad never made it back into the city. There were barracks out near the mines for the workers, but no one liked to spend too much time out there when they had a family in the city, and her dad especially hated it, since without him, she was all on her own, except for Memela down the hall.

If her dad was staying there for the night, he might not _notice_ if she wasn’t home during the shift change. Which meant she was going to have to do this _tonight_. She checked the clock. She could manage a few hours of sleep before she needed to sneak on board a train heading out to the mountains. She checked her backpack one more time, and then tried to sleep.

She thought she had managed some rest by the time her alarm went off in the wee hours of the morning, but she wasn’t actually sure. Still, it didn’t matter either either way. She checked her bag again, then swung it onto her back and climbed out the window. She was glad she had thought to try this route earlier in the week for practice, and even more glad that she’d remembered to stuff the excess space in the bag with cloth so that her tools didn’t clink as she shimmied across window sills and scrambled up a drainpipe.

It was a lot easier to do things like this as a nine year old than it had been when she was fifty. She took a moment to shake her head at the convoluted oddity of that thought once she had both feet firmly on the roof of her apartment building, and then she set off across the rooftops towards the train station. The jumps were far harder to make, with her small body and heavy bag, but she made do.

After having twice in her life jumped onto Imperial trains, one bearing the then Emperor, the other bearing the hero of Turgonia; Admiral Starcrest himself, getting onto a simple passenger train was – heh – child’s play. Leaping from the roof of the station or the water tower was too far for her tiny form, but it was ridiculously easy to wait until no one was looking, and then scramble into the supply car. It was full of crates, machine parts, and mining tools, but Amaranthe found herself a nook to stow away in, and settled in to keep watch.

It was a tedious two hours. There was one check before they left, a lazy inspection that didn’t even come anywhere _near_ to Amaranthe’s hiding place, and then she was left alone in the dark. She missed Sicarius, missed his silent presence and his warmth and the sheer security she felt in his presence. She knew he wasn’t infallible, of course, but he was more than competent, and still – always – ruthless in the protection of those he deemed as his. Amaranthe had always counted herself very lucky to be among those rare few. Of course, she never _liked it_ when he was forced to kill to defend her, but… under his protection was a _very_ safe place to be.

If she cried a little, well, it was dark, and there was no one around to judge her for it.

She just hoped that wherever he was, Sicarius was managing a slightly better impression on Sespian than he had the first time around. Of course, that depended entirely on whether he was in the same position as her or not, but she hoped he was. She hoped he was training Sespian in stealth under the guise of playing hide-and-seek, and encouraging him to eat bugs, and holding him in the dead of the night when he was scared, and teaching him how to draw.

She _missed_ her family. So damn much.

The train began to slow, and Amaranthe began to pull herself back together. Well, even if Sicarius didn’t remember, her mission would help improve his relationship with Sespain. That was her goal. She drew herself up, snuck to the door, and jumped out on the side away from the platform before the train had slowed to a complete stop. She staggered a little under the weight of her bag, but kept her feet and darted into the shadows.

The train had brought her deep into the mountains, where the sides of the cliffs on either side of the ravine were pockmarked with mines and covered in metal walkways and stairs. It was hard to see in the dark, but Amaranthe had studied a map of the area and memorised her father’s schedule in her preparations, and she did her best to recall it now. She was reasonably sure that the mine her father was assigned to was further along the ravine, so she headed beyond the train station. There were miners pouring off the train, and a few beginning to trickle out of the mines, and a handful more approaching from the barracks, as the shift change approached, and all the activity made sneaking difficult.

Ideally, Amaranthe wanted to get in, enact her plan, and get out during the shift change, but realistically, she knew there was far too great a chance of her being spotted with so many miners moving about. It wasn’t as though a nine year old girl blended in very well in that sort of crowd. So she had a back-up plan, that would take much longer, as she’d have to navigate the mines while the miners were working, but in the mines, she was fairly sure there would be plenty of places to hide.

She was almost resigned to having to resort to her back up plan when she spotted a chain of mine-carts haphazardly half-full of tools, tarps and bottled water. The two men tasked with driving them back down were engrossed in a conversation with a co-worker, paying absolutely no attention to the carts. It was too good an opportunity to pass up, and Amaranthe didn’t waste any time in darting from her hiding place and ducking into the shadows of the carts.

A quick check to ensure that the miners’ attention was still elsewhere, and she hoisted her pack over the edge of the least full cart, clinging to the straps until the last moment in an attempt to muffle the thump it made when landing. Thankfully, it didn’t seem to attract any attention. Amaranthe checked again that no one was looking her way, then once more that no one seemed _about_ to be looking her way, then told herself to stop being a coward, and scrambled after her bag. She grabbed at a tarp before she was fully settled, and pulled it over herself and her bag.

She held her breath, waiting for a shout, or for someone to tear her tarp away, but nothing happened. Sighing quietly in relief, she set about trying to tug her tarp into covering her more securely without moving it so much that anyone glancing at her would think it anything worse than the wind. She got a little distracted scrubbing coal dust off the inside of the mine-cart, and was taken by surprise when the carts started to move.

It seemed to go on forever, the rattling, jolting journey into the depths of the mine. Amaranthe spent the whole journey as tense as a drawn bowstring, until the carts began to slow. Then, slowly, she lifted a corner of her tarp and peeked out, towards the front, so that hopefully, the miner driving them wouldn’t see anything more than a lump of tarp, and hopefully the shadows would conceal her movement.

All she could see was the vague outline of rough stone drifting past her, and the cart right in front of her jolting its way along the tracks. Eventually, they approached a lit area, and slowed to a stop. The two men began to unload the carts, filling the tunnel with clanks and the occasional shout. Amaranthe’s heart leapt into her throat as she wondered if she’d been too impulsive. She wasn’t sure she could get out unseen before she was discovered. Warily, she lifted a little more of the tarp, and peered out of the tiny gap.

The mine was empty but for the two men, with the previous shift already leaving and the next one not yet arrived, which was exactly what Amaranthe had hoped for, except for the small hiccup of being stuck in a mine-cart. She was never left alone, either. One man stayed with the carts, unloading and passing supplies to his fellow, who took the tools and water deeper into the tunnels. The area was fairly well lit, but there were shadows everywhere, more than enough to hide one small girl, if she could only get to them without being seen.

Sicarius had taught her how to judge light sources and shadows to find the best hiding spot, and as she eyed the gas-lamps hanging at the mouth of one of the tunnels, she realised that one of the best hiding places right now would be _behind her_ , where the carts would throw long shadows, and the uneven rock would disguise the shape of a human body. If she used the tarp to conceal herself from sight, she might be able to climb out without being seen. She would have to be quick, though, before the men got any closer to her chosen cart, and therefore more likely to spot her.

She readjusted the tarp, pulling it down as securely as she could, then twisted around and fished her pack out from under her. She moved carefully, in small little fits, with periods of stillness between. The worst was when she got her pack up to the lip of the cart and forced herself to freeze, not to be hasty. She waited, measuring her breaths and listening carefully to the sounds of the men unloading the carts. She’d held heavier weights over her head while trying to build up her body after her jump through time, but the importance of the situation made every second feel like a minute, and her arms threatened to shake with the tension.

Luckily, the men didn’t seem to have noticed anything, so Amaranthe dared to begin pushing the pack over the lip of the cart, the straps clenched safely in her fists in case she lost control of the bulk of it and it threatened to fall. Once gravity was helping her, she shuffled forwards and froze again, listening. Holding the bag was easier like this, because she could counter its weight with her own. But again, she didn’t hear anything more incriminating than a shout from one of the men for his colleague to hurry up. She lowered her bag as far as she could, until her arms were hanging out of the cart as well, the tarp sitting over her head like a hood.

She peeked over the lip of the cart and saw that the bag was still a little way off the ground. She mouthed a curse. She was going to have to drop it. Bracing herself, she did. It made a muffled thump, and rolled away from the cart. The sounds of the men unloading stopped.

Amaranthe wanted to screw her eyes shut, but she didn’t dare. Instead, she watched the shadows on the tunnel wall. They were indistinct, the shapes distorted by the uneven rock, and doubled because there were a pair of lamps. “Did you hear something just now?” One of the men asked the other.

“What?”

“I don’t know. Do you think someone got left down here from the last shift?”

“What idiot would stay down here longer than he had to? Sure you’re not just hearing things?”

“I could’ve sworn…”

“Next you’ll be saying you saw a grimbal down one of the empty mines.”

“As if. There haven’t been grimbals this close to Stumps in ages. Come on, hurry up.”

“You hurry up, you arse.”

Amaranthe allowed herself one slow sigh of relief, and then she began creeping after her pack. It was excruciating, forcing herself to move slowly when all she wanted to do was bolt for cover. But Sicarius had drilled it into her that fast movement attracted the eye, so she forced herself to hold her own weight by her arms as she contorted herself over the lip of the cart and lowered her feet soundlessly to the ground.

Once she was sure the carts hid her from view, though, she allowed herself to move at more than a glacial crawl, and scooped up her pack and slipped down to the end of the line of carts. From there, it was much easier to slip into the darkness of the tunnel, and further down to the next lit area. Once she was alone, some of the tension melted out of her shoulders, and she opened her pack.

Inside, several dark sealed jars were packed and padded so they wouldn’t clink, and inside each was a solution that smelled very strongly of rotten eggs that she’d appropriated from the university. She wasn’t going to release any _actually_ toxic gases into the mine to get it closed down, but if she could convince the miners that there was stinkdamp in the mine, then that would be good enough to at least get the mine shut down for a while.

She placed the first jar, hidden deep in a crevice where it hopefully wouldn’t be found, unsealed the lid just enough to let the scent start to seep out, then trotted deeper. She _hoped_ that none of the jars would be found, but she knew better than to rely on that. They were all nondescript, easily found in any of the poorer areas of Stumps, with no distinguishing features. They shouldn’t lead anyone back to her.

When the last one had been wedged behind a couple of large rocks, Amaranthe started back towards the main tunnel. Before she could reach it, however, she heard voices and many feet tromping towards her. Cursing under her breath, she darted deeper into the tunnel. She’d taken too long, and the next shift had already arrived.


	5. Chapter 5

Amaranthe, contorted into a small, awkward but heavily shadowed crevice in the rockface, all but held her breath as she heard miners moving past her hiding place. They all had lamps on their hats, but given that the bulk of a metal support strut pressed against her cheek protected her from being seen from the entrance to the tunnel, and the miners so rarely looked over their shoulder, and even if they did glimpse something, the only part of her not covered in dark cloth that would hopefully blend into the rock and iron was her face, she thought – hoped, _prayed_ – that she might just remain hidden.

The first group marched past her without any trouble, but just as Amaranthe was about to wriggle out of her hiding place, another pair of miners approached. Amaranthe retraced the arm she’d wriggled free, catching her sleeve on a sharp edge of rock and tearing both sleeve and the skin beneath. She bit back a sound of pain, and chided herself furiously for being too impatient. She was fifty years old, she should know better than that by now.

She counted out the seconds, pressing her sleeve against her new scratch, and made sure at least ten minutes had passed before she finally allowed herself to squirm out into the tunnel, and dart up to where it met with the main, and much wider, tunnel. She hopped over the cart tracks, and pressed herself against the tunnel wall, just breathing for a long moment. She couldn’t rely on taking the same route out as she had in, so she was going to have to walk. There were lifts, but she didn’t think she had the strength in her nine year old form to climb the cables all the way up, and using the lift itself would be too much of a give-away of an intruder. If she could hide on the outside, maybe, but someone might see her if she was on top, and she wouldn’t be able to get out if she was on the bottom.

She was mulling over if taking the roof of the lift was worth the risk – wandering along the track of the mine carts wasn’t going to be _much_ safer in terms of being spotted, but she would have more potential hiding places – as she crept along past the lighted entrances to all the branching mining tunnels that she’d planted her little fake stinkdamp concoctions in. She couldn’t smell anything yet, but she’d only opened the lids a little, enough to let the smell seep out, but not so much that it would flood the mines in a few minutes. That wouldn’t be very realistic.

Still, she had only just reached the lifts and decided that it would probably be safer to take the long way out, when she heard _her father’s voice_ echoing up the tunnel. “Everyone out! There’s stinkdamp down here! Get out!”

The lift it was. She couldn’t afford to be wandering the mines for the next stage of her plans. She bolted for the lift, and scrambled up the cage-mesh of the sides to the small hatch in the rough metal roof. She slipped through, into the dark of the lift-shaft, and lowered the hatch slowly back into place, making sure it didn’t clang and reveal her. She was just barely in time, and a moment later, she could hear running footsteps that transitioned from rock to thin metal.

There were a few calls for people to move to the back, and to make room, but for the most part, the miners kept quiet. There was a palpable air of well-restrained fear about them all, and Amaranthe felt guilt churn in her gut. She didn’t like punishing innocent, hard-working men for the Emperor’s sins. She pushed the thought out of her mind as the lift jerked into movement, putting all her concentration into keeping hold of a platform that was never designed to support a person. There were no handholds except the hatch and where the cable was attached to the lift, but Amaranthe didn’t dare touch that.

After what felt like an age, Amaranthe realised she could see light above. As they winched closer to the surface, she did her best to fit herself behind the cable, the only thing that could obscure her. She needn’t have worried though, as the lift finally reached the top of the mine, she saw that there wasn’t anyone waiting in the short tunnel to the exit. Sunlight spilled in, thin by the time it reached the lift, but still there, and Amaranthe smiled in relief.

Then she had to flatten herself to the roof of the lift as it creaked and whined it’s way into place, and the winch mechanism loomed so close above her that she could hardly breathe. There was just enough space for a grown man to stand with his shoulders out of the hatch so that he could reach the mechanism for maintanence, but no more than the bare necessary space. Amaranthe thanked every god she knew of that she was only nine, and a fairly small nine-year-old at that.

She heard the miners leaving, and before she could even begin to consider climbing down into the lift and sneaking out that way, it jolted and began to descend. Amaranthe froze, wide-eyed, as she was lowered back into view of the tunnel. She stayed very, very still, even when she realised no one was looking back. They were all heading out of the mine, orderly, but _fast_ , and didn’t spare a look backwards. Amaranthe let the lift carry her almost out of sight, watching the tunnel empty as she descended, and then grabbed the bars of the gate that protected the miners from falling into the lift-shaft and to their deaths. She hung there for several breaths, listening, then gritted her teeth, and hauled herself up so that she could peer out.

The tunnel was still empty, so Amaranthe planted a booted foot against the rock wall of the shaft, and yanked the gate open, just enough for her to slip through. She debated shutting it, but decided it was believable that a miner in a rush to evacuate might not look to see if it was latched properly, and left it as it was. Instead, she snuck up the tunnel and peered outside.

After the dark of the mines, the full dawn sunlight was almost blinding. The wide ravine where the administration buildings and the barracks were located was picked out in stark detail, and Amaranthe watched the miners heading down to the administration building with a sense of satisfaction. Step one had been eminently successful, despite a few snags here and there.

Now, all she needed to do was wait until the overseer had drawn up the paperwork closing the mine for inspection and transferring all the miners to different areas, change one little number on her father’s papers, and then he’d have a whole month off.

* * *

Amaranthe had taken the same train as her father back to the city. The miners had been forced to wait for the overseer to sign off on the mine inspection and give them their new schedules before they could head back to the city, and Amaranthe had been forced to orchestrate a minor distraction in order to get the man away from his desk long enough to doctor her father’s papers, but it had all gone really well, in Amaranthe’s opinion. She even managed to get back to their apartment before her father did.

She stripped out of her clothes, which were all covered in coal dust now, and washed her face, which had also gotten more than a little coal dust on it in the course of her sabotage. Then she yanked on an old dress, and busied herself with cleaning the apartment. Hopefully it would look like she’d been at it all morning, instead of only starting a few minutes before her father got home.

She was scrubbing at their water bucket – which was used for everything from washing the dishes to washing _themselves_ sometimes – when she heard her father’s heavy tread in the hall. She absolutely did not jump when the door opened, but looked up with a perfectly normal smile. “Hi, Dad. Welcome home.”

Her father met her gaze, and his expression twisted into something Amaranthe couldn’t read. Or wasn’t sure she wanted to read. He didn’t answer her, but turned away to shut the door. She watched his shoulders rise and fall with one large breath in and out before he turned to face her again. This time, his face was set into hard lines, and he crossed the room to stand at the table, and pressed a small bundle of forms onto the wood with splayed fingers.

“Amaranthe Lokdon.” He said, and Amaranthe jerked backwards in her seat, a childish fear of recrimination clogging her throat and locking her lungs. “Tell me you did not do this.” Her father ordered. Or, to a nine-year-old, it would have sounded like an order, but Amaranthe, fifty years old and a mother herself, could hear the plea behind his anger. The desperation to find another explanation, _any_ other explanation, even though he knew he wasn’t going to.

There was a lie on the tip of her tongue, but then she made the mistake of looking up from the papers and meeting her father’s eyes. She realised, in a heartbeat, that he wasn’t going to believe a lie, because he _knew_ she had done it, and even if she managed a plausible excuse, he would never, truly, be able to dismiss the suspicion. In that moment, she could see a future stretching out in front of her where, instead of a distance between them forced by his work, there would be distance of a colder, crueller kind, where he mistrusted her every word and suspected her every motive until the day he died.

She dropped her gaze to her hands, resting limply against the bucket. “I can’t.” She said quietly.

The silence that followed was so thick, Amaranthe was half convinced the air had turned to syrup, and that’s why she was having trouble breathing. “Do you have _any idea_ ,” her father began, his voice low but _shaking_ with rage, “how many people might have _died_ -”

Amaranthe jerked her head up with a cry of denial. “No! No, Dad, it wasn’t _actually_ stinkdamp! I wouldn’t- I wouldn’t do that! It just smelled like it, they use it at the university in the classrooms. I wouldn’t put innocent men in danger like that!”

Her father stared at her hard for a long moment, then nodded. “As reassured as I am that you’re not _that_ cruel, you still- _Amaranthe_ , what you did- not that I have any idea _how_ \- what you did was _treason_!” Her father exploded, although he had enough sense to keep his voice to a harsh snarl, instead of a shout. Amaranthe didn’t _think_ the neighbours could have heard it, but she winced anyway.

“Sabotage of imperial industry. I know.” Amaranthe murmured softly. Whispers could carry further than a low murmur, she knew, so she didn’t whisper, but kept her voice so quiet her father had to lean over the table to hear her. “I’m not going to get caught, though, don’t worry.” She assured him.

“ _That is not the problem_!” Her father hissed furiously. Amaranthe blinked at him as he glared at her, clearly wrestling with his impulse to shout at her. “I thought I raised you better than this, Amaranthe.” He snapped, and Amaranthe flinched. Tears stung at her eyes, but for all that she looked it, she wasn’t actually nine years old, and she refused to let them fall. “Does the Empire – our _home_ – mean nothing to you?”

That startled her enough to forget that she was trying not to cry, and when she blinked in confusion, a tear slipped free. She had forgotten, or perhaps never really known, how patriotic her father had been. Most people had been, even herself to a degree, before the revolution. But that was twenty-five long years ago to Amaranthe, and she had adapted to living under a ruler that changed every five years, where laws were subject to the wants of the people, and where treason was not nearly so broad a crime.

“I love Turgonia.” Amaranthe said carefully. “I love this city, and I love my home. But I love you more, Dad-” And Sicarius, and Sespian, and all her friends, and her daughter that might never be born. “-and I _won’t_ watch you kill yourself slaving away for an Emperor who couldn’t care _less_.” She finally looked up to meet her father’s gaze, and found him staring at her like he’d never seen her before. “You should quit. But you won’t. So I got you a holiday. I don’t care that I had to commit treason to do it. I’ll commit treason again when you get blacklung.”

She paused, swallowed down all the words that wanted to come tumbling out. She half expected her father to interrupt, but he just continued to stare, in a way that broke her heart. “I’m… sorry if I disappointed you,” she managed to get out, “but I’m not sorry I did it.”

Her father’s jaw clenched so tightly she could see the muscle jumping. “You do realise that we’re still not going to Mangdoria, don’t you?” He growled. “If you can’t see that what you did was wrong, maybe not getting what you wanted will teach you to be more responsible in the future.”

Amaranthe really should have seen that coming. She mulled over what few arguments she had left, but there really weren’t that many. She tried a simple one, even if she doubted it would work. “But I got Lady Marblecrest to put down an early deposit for me and everything!” She protested.

She could tell from the way her father’s glare darkened that it wasn’t going to work. “What you want isn’t the most important thing in the world, Amaranthe. Just because you want something, it doesn’t give you the right to interfere in other people’s lives and _trick them_ into going along with your every whim.” Her father informed her sternly.

Well, that was a very unflattering perspective on her habit of scheming and charming people into helping. Amaranthe grimaced. “I’m _nine_. People don’t listen to nine-year-olds, so I had to find another way.” She explained, but her father just seemed to get _more_ angry. She sighed, frustrated. “I’m not… Dad, I’m not doing this just because I’m… throwing a _tantrum_ or something. I know what I’m doing, I know that I broke laws, but it was _worth it_.”

“A _holiday_ was worth committing treason for?” Her father demanded scathingly.

Amaranthe opened her mouth, and stalled. She had no way to explain that she was trying to save lives, to save the entire Empire from a horrifying bloody revolution and a slow, insidious coup and an Emperor who thought it was okay to kill his wife for not producing an heir. “It’s not about the holiday.” She tried, although she was sure that without being able to explain the details, her father wouldn’t buy it.

To her surprise, it seemed to give her father pause. He finally sat down, the scrape of the chair legs against the floorboards loud and grating in the heavy silence. Then he frowned at her. “What is it about, then? What’s so damn important you felt the need to commit _treason_ , Amaranthe?”

“I don’t know where to start.” Amaranthe said quietly. “Can I have some time to think about… how to explain?” She asked, peeking up at her father tentatively. He scowled at her, but nodded once. So Amaranthe nodded back, and went back to scrubbing the bucket as she thought. She had used Sespian as a reason for Tia, and that had worked exceptionally well. She didn’t think ‘because the Emperor is mean to his son’ would work on her father, though, so she needed another reason. She didn’t want to _lie_ to her father, but if she could pick something about the situation that could convince him to come with her to Mangdoria, then she wouldn’t feel too guilty about not telling him everything.

She didn’t think ‘because my future husband is about to make a really terrible mistake’ would do her any favours either. And given his reaction to her committing treason, she was pretty sure ‘because the Emperor is going to assassinate the Mangdorian Chief’ wouldn’t have much weight to it. Her father might not _like_ the idea of an Imperial Assassin, most Turgonians didn’t, but it wouldn’t motivate him to help her, and it probably wouldn’t get him to stop _stopping her_ , either. She wasn’t even entirely sure ‘because the Emperor’s going to kill children’ would work the way she wanted it to. It would upset him, she knew; he was a compassionate man, but he was a loyal one, too. She couldn’t be sure her word would be enough to tip the scales into helping her _commit more treason_.

Still, it was probably her best card. She put aside the clean bucket, and started cleaning and then polishing the table as she tried to work out how to piece together her explanation in a way that would make sense. Her father obligingly lifted his paperwork off the table, and watched her with deep worry lines etched between his brows. Amaranthe swallowed, and focused on her work as she began. “Did you know that the Emperor has an assassin?” She asked.

Her father’s expression twitched through distaste and confusion, before settling back into worry. “Yes.” He agreed warily. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Did you know that Mangdoria is uniting under a single Chief?” Amaranthe paused, head tilted, and considered that. “Or will be, soon. I’m… not entirely sure how far Chief Yull has gotten with that, honestly.” She grimaced. She hated how unspecific her knowledge was, but it wasn’t as if you asked your friends ‘what was the exact date your life got ruined?’ The stories she’d been told had all been vague on the timelines, everyone using sweeping phrases like ‘fifteen years ago’ which could mean Sicarius was already on his way to Mangdoria, or it could mean she had two years, and Chief Yull had only barely begun to inspire the tribes to unite under his leadership.

Her father looked bewildered. “I hardly know anything about Mangdoria, Amaranthe. How do _you_ know so much about it?” He asked.

Amaranthe winced, then cast a sideways look at her father, and decided it couldn’t hurt to further another of her plans. “I’ve been… maybe sneaking into the university sometimes. I mean, Tia has all these tutors who teach her so many fascinating things, and… I met one of the Professors, Professor Mugdildor, he teaches history, and he’s really nice.”

Her father closed his eyes for a moment, but it was his usual ‘Amaranthe is a trouble-maker’ expression, a combination of fondness and exasperation and long-suffering. It was almost a relief to see, after his hard scowls of the last half hour. “Alright. Mangdoria has a new chief or whatever, and this is important because…?” He prompted.

“It’s more than- Mangdoria doesn’t have a central government, Dad. Imagine if all the Satrapy leaders did their own thing and there wasn’t an Emperor. That’s… a bit like what it’s like? I think?” Amaranthe tried to explain.

Her father’s eyes narrowed. “And this guy is pulling them all together?” Amaranthe nodded wordlessly, and she saw her father putting the pieces together without any more information. His expression went from suspicious to steely, and from there to quietly livid. “Amaranthe, are you telling me that _all along_ , your goal here was _treason_?!” He demanded in a harsh whisper.

“No, Dad, no-” Amaranthe tried to protest.

“Then _what_ , Amaranthe?! Because it seems to me that you’re bound and determined to spit in the eye of our Emperor and trample all over our way of life. I don’t know what’s gotten into you these past few years, but-”

“ _He has kids_.” Amaranthe yelled over his tirade, and he stopped, only for a moment before he was gearing up for an angry question, but Amaranthe ploughed ahead before he could get the breath. “Chief Yull has two sons, and the Emperor’s going to kill them to _make a point_. I couldn’t just- Dad, I had to do _something_.” Amaranthe paused to get her composure back, and she was afraid her father would just start lecturing her again, but instead he stared at her with an expression she couldn’t read. “I know I’m just nine, and I can’t do much, but… but I thought if I warned them- I don’t- it’s not like I think a pacifist Chief could just avoid an Imperial Assassin, but he might… he might be able to send his kids away or- or something.”

It sounded so stupid when she said it out loud, and suddenly, all of the fight drained out of her. Amaranthe sat down, hard, and fought back frustrated tears. She was so damned helpless, even knowing what was going to happen, all the things that were going to go wrong, and it was sheer _luck_ that she’d managed to make any difference at all. Why would a Mangdorian Chief listen to anything a Turgonian child had to say? And even if he did, it wasn’t as if it would make any difference. If Sicarius remembered their future together, he wouldn’t kill the children. The Chief, perhaps, although she liked to think he would find a way around that, too, but not the two little boys who probably weren’t that much older than Sespian. If he _didn’t_ remember, then, well, she _really_ wasn’t sure what a pacifist culture could hope to do against him. Send the boys away and he’d just torture the information out of Yull or whoever else knew first, try to hide the whole family and he’d just hunt them down. Sicarius had only failed a mission twice in his career, and that was only due to the interference of Admiral Starcrest himself, his childhood idol.

She was nine and a half years old, with one ally who was also nine, barely any funds, only vague information, and hardly any tools. She didn’t have a team, she didn’t have a network, she wasn’t an adult, she didn’t have Sicarius at her side, to act as her support and restraint and sounding-board and protector and confidant and ally. He would have told her when she wasn’t planning far enough ahead. He would have reminded her that some things just can’t be talked through and around until the conflict was resolved.

“You had to do something, huh?” Her father asked, dry and disapproving.

Amaranthe blinked and looked up, confused. “What…?”

Her father gave her a flat look. “You said the same thing about the Marblecrest girl.” He reminded her, and Amaranthe blinked, winding her memory back… had it only been a month since she’d fished Tia out of the river? It couldn’t have been two, because the races weren’t until next month. She’d made sure that her father’s return to work was _after_ the end of the Junior races, so that he wouldn’t even have to use up his holidays to come and watch her. Emperor’s warts, it _had_ only been a month.

“Oh.” Amaranthe murmured. “I… well, it’s true.” She admitted in a small voice.

“You’re a kind girl, Ammy-” Amaranthe had never been so glad to hear her nickname in all her life, and her father’s return to it made something unclench inside her chest. “-and that’s a good thing, but damn if you aren’t headstrong and creative enough to drive me up the wall. How do you get into this much _trouble_?” Amaranthe smiled, sad but sheepish. Her father rolled his eyes, then fixed her with another stern glare. “How _did_ you find out about this?”

Amaranthe wasn’t at all sure that the time was right for a bit of humour, but she had to try. She shrugged. “The maids hear everything.” She told him flippantly.

Her father was not a stupid man. His gaze darkened. “I’m starting to think you ought to quit that job, flower.” He muttered.

“I will if you will.” Amaranthe retorted.

“Dead deranged ancestors, Amaranthe!” Her father suddenly burst out. Amaranthe bit her lip and tried to look contrite. After breathing deeply for a few moments, her father looked up at her. “Alright. Because you had a good reason, I’ll let your _sabotage of imperial industry_ go, if you promise to _never_ do that sort of thing again.”

Amaranthe didn’t answer right away, and her father glared at her. “I can’t, Dad.” She said finally.

“Why _not_?” Her father demanded.

“Because I was serious when I said I would commit treason to save your life, Dad, and I won’t make a promise I know I’m going to break someday.” Amaranthe explained simply. “I… don’t want to have to lie to you like that, Dad.” She wondered if her father would catch that she had said ‘don’t want to have to’ not ‘won’t’. Going by the slight widening of his eyes, he had caught it.

Her father snorted roughly, a helplessly angry twist to his lips. “I’m not going to win that fight, am I?” He asked.

“No.” Amaranthe said simply.

Her father gritted his teeth, but nodded. “Alright. Can you at least promise you’ll _talk to me_ before you go committing treason again? I know you’re smart, Ammy, but I might know things you don’t, and I might be able to help you come up with a better solution.”

“If you can accept that sometimes there might not be a better solution, and when that happens, that will by law make you an accomplice.” Amaranthe reminded him carefully.

Conflict swept over her father’s face, a moment of turmoil that probably would have shaken Amaranthe if she’d actually been nine years old; seeing her father so uncertain, so close to actually frightened. He had always been her rock, solid and unwavering and strong. Until he’d died. And Amaranthe had realised that he was human just like everybody else. That sometimes humans don’t know what to do. Sometimes they get frightened. Sometimes they want two mutually exclusive things. On the one hand, her father wanted to be a good, loyal citizen of the Turgonian Empire, a dependable part of one of the backbone industries of their home. On the other hand, he wanted to do everything he could to keep his daughter safe and out of trouble. And she’d just told him he couldn’t have both.

Her father closed his eyes, and nodded. “Alright. Agreed.” He said.

All of a sudden, Amaranthe desperately needed to hug him. She flung herself around the table and threw her arms around him. He caught her, and hugged her back, and Amaranthe tried not to cry. She hadn’t realised just how much his support would mean to her. “Thanks, Dad.” She whispered, knowing she sounded choked up and not caring.

“You’re a double handful and then some, flower.” Her father replied, which wasn’t really an acknowledgement, but Amaranthe would take it. He probably didn’t want to be thanked for agreeing to be complicit with her treasonous plans. She pressed her face into his shoulder to hide her smile, and took several long moments to just appreciate her father and everything he was willing to do for her. Eventually, her father patted her on the back with a heavy sigh that rocked Amaranthe’s whole body. “Mangdoria?” He prompted, resigned.

Amaranthe released him and sat back down. “I thought we could get a train to somewhere nice in one of the northern or eastern satrapies, and then hike across the border. Then… well, I’ll need to find a map of the country, and maybe I should dye my hair blonde to blend in better, and when I figure out where Chief Yull is, I’ll sneak in and warn him to send his kids somewhere safe.”

“That is not a good enough plan, Amaranthe.” Her father informed her sternly.

For the next hour, they sat at the table and put together a more detailed plan. Amaranthe soon had a list of things to look up and investigate, and a bunch of supplies to collect. Her father half-heartedly offered to help with some of it, but Amaranthe insisted she could handle it. Partly because it was true, but mostly because she knew her father didn’t like being involved with a plot to commit treason, and she wasn’t going to ask him to take a more active role than he had already.

The fact that he didn’t fight her on it, despite the fact that he would be at a loose end for a couple of days while she got everything together, told her she was right to insist she could manage by herself. He did sigh and lean back in his chair, though, staring at her as though she were a puzzle he just couldn’t solve. “What happened to you, Amaranthe?” He asked wearily, and then waved a hand in the air to indicate he was talking about everything that had happened and been talked about since he got home.

For one wild moment, Amaranthe was tempted to tell him everything. Then she thought about actually trying to explain, and the impulse shrivelled to nothing. Her father would flinch at the mention of magic, and would laugh at the idea of aliens, and time-travel was so beyond either of those concepts alone that she couldn’t even begin to imagine how he would react.

But, well, maybe she could still tell him _a_ truth.

So she offered him a tired, wry little smile, entirely aware of how grown-up an expression it was, and shrugged one shoulder. “I grew up while you weren’t looking.”


End file.
